


Adult Education

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey thought he found a one night stand. Ian thought otherwise. </p><p>Mickey certainly didn't think his one night stand was his son's teacher, or that Ian had a few lessons for Mickey as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adult Education

**Author's Note:**

> Amazing art by tumblr user beautiful-ruiner can be found [here](http://beautiful-ruiner.tumblr.com/post/134568074693/mickey-hooks-up-with-a-hot-guy-at-a-nightclub), [here](http://beautiful-ruiner.tumblr.com/post/134568046053/adult-education-by-romanticalgirl-mickey), and [here](http://beautiful-ruiner.tumblr.com/post/134568019198/adult-education-by-romanticalgirl-can-a-one)

The bar is crowded and hot, filled with seat and half-naked bodies. Mickey doesn’t dance, but he’s had a miserable day, and he can lose himself in the middle of the crowd, the filthy grind. He’s had a few drinks and hopefully by the end of the night, he’ll have a hard, rough, dirty fuck.

Hands grip his hips and he fights his normal instinct for confrontation. This is what he wants, what he’s looking for.

He can feel the press of a body against his, dick hard as it rubs at the seam of Mickey’s jeans. Warm breath fans over Mickey’s neck. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere that isn’t here.”

“Where’d you have in mind?”

He turns Mickey around and slides a knee between Mickey’s legs. Mickey’s eyes widen as he takes in the short red hair shaved at the sides, the shock of bangs. His eyes are hard to see in the pulsing light, but his tight shirt and tighter pants emphasize everything else. “Somewhere a lot more private and with more of my dick up your ass.”

It takes everything Mickey has not to groan as the guy steps back, fingers of one hand hooked in Mickey’s belt loop. He turns and starts walking, and Mickey follows. The guy is lean and long and Mickey’s own dick hardens as he realizes that what he felt against his ass wasn’t fully hard, and what he’s going to be taking is going to fill him like nothing ever has before.

Mickey expects an alleyway or bathroom stall, but instead he gets led into what appears to be an abandoned office at the back of the club. “Take it you’ve been here before.”

The guy turns around and pulls Mickey hard against him. “Take your pants off.”

Mickey undoes his belt and shoves his pants and boxers down. The guy does the same and Jesus Christ. Mickey’s pretty sure he’s seen god. The guy grabs Mickey’s shoulder, manhandling him, turning him around and pushing Mickey over the edge of the desk. Mickey puts a hand on either side to brace himself as the guy runs two fingers down the crack of Mickey’s ass.

“Christ, you ass is fucking incredible.” Mickey hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper as it lands on the desk beside his hip. There’s a slick thickness of lube between the cheeks of his ass, warm fingers holding the skin apart. The lube is warm – probably inside the guy’s pocket – and Mickey’s ass clenches as it drizzles over his hole.

Mickey bows his head and tightens his grip, but it still doesn’t quite prepare him for the first brush of the guy’s finger over him, the initial breach. The finger pushes inside him, long and deep, and Mickey gasps as it curves, as the knuckles against his perineum dig in. “Fuck. More.”

The guy laughs and the sound shoots through Mickey’s like wildfire. “Greedy.”

“Fuck, yes.”

He pulls his finger almost out and Mickey can feel his other fingertips sliding through the lube. Mickey closes his eyes and then there’s tight, hot, too much as three fingers push in. Mickey’s m7uscles quiver and he groans.

“Better?”

Mickey nods as the fingers slide and stretch, thrust and fill Mickey up. “Christ, fuck me.”

Mickey’s knees quake as the guy pulls his fingers out, but it’s not long before the blunt head of his dick is rubbing against Mickey’s hole and then pushing in. Whatever Mickey had expected is nothing compared to the actuality of the cock inside him, the thick stretch that makes Mickey feel like he’s flying apart.

“Christ.” The guy is holding Mickey’s hips hard enough to bruise and Mickey thrusts back against him. “More.”

“Bossy little shit.” He thrusts harder, deep enough that Mickey has to choke back a cry. “Take it so fucking good. Like a fucking slut for my cock.”

“Fuck, yes.” Mickey’s panting, ass stretched and hot as the guy’s hips pound against Mickey’s ass, as his dick pounds inside him. “Fucking give it to me.”

He keeps moving and then he stops, suddenly pulling out.

“What the fuck?” Mickey gasps, his knees giving way. His dick bumps the underside of the desktop and he jerks, forehead slamming onto the wood. “Jesus fuck.”

The guy pulls at Mickey’s hips. “Turn the fuck over.”

Mickey goes easily and then he’s flat on the desk, legs spread wide. The guy pushes in hard and fast, not wasting time before he’s moving at the same punishing pace.

“Look at you.” He wraps his hand around Mickey’s cock and jerks him with long fingers, fist tight. “So fucking easy. So fucking needy. You gonna beg? Beg me to let you come?” Mickey whimpers and arches into his hand, desperate sounds caught in his throat. “Bet you’re so fucking gorgeous when you beg. Want you to beg me.”

“Please,” Mickey moans. “Need it. Please. Fuck.”

He lets go of Mickey’s cock and slides his hands beneath Mickey’s thighs, lifting them up enough that he can use his shoulders to push Mickey’s knees back against his chest. His hand finds Mickey’s cock again and it tightens even further leaving Mickey struggling to breathe. 

“God. Fuck. God. Please. Please.” Mickey tries to arch up, unable to move other than the sweaty slide and stick to the desk. He doesn’t recognize his voice, the desperation. “Come. Wanna come. Jesus. Fucking…fucking _please_.”

The guy thrusts deeper than Mickey imagined was possible, jerking Mickey’s dick like he’s pulling Mickey over the edge with it. Mickey’s moan is wrung out of him, and he’s sure that there’s no way he’s going to be able to walk out of there.

The guy pulls back and loses the condom before reaching out and trailing his fingers from the hollow of Mickey’s throat to the dark trail of hair leading down to Mickey’s spent dick. “Ian.”

“Wh-” Mickey can’t do more than blink at him. His legs are hanging off the desk, and he doesn’t know if he’s numb or feeling too much.

“My name’s Ian.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Nice. Nice to meet you.”

Ian laughs. “What’s your name?”

“Pretty sure you fucked it out of me.” He’s still breathing roughly, strangely in sync with Ian. “Uh. Mick. Mickey.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Mickey chokes out a laugh, sliding off the desk and grabbing onto Ian when his legs give way slightly. “Yeah. That isn’t even close to true.”

“So, Mickey. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Right.” Mickey watches Ian tuck himself back into his pants and walks out. Slumping against the desk, Mickey closes his eyes. “Christ,” he whispers to himself. “What the fuck was that?”

**

“You are late.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. Let’s get this over with.”

“You say hello to your son?”

“Like I had a chance before you started bitching at me.” He reaches down and ruffles Yevgeny’s hair. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Yevgeny nods solemnly at Mickey. “Mama said you wouldn’t come.”

“Well, Mama’s a bit…bit wrong, obviously.” Svetlana gives Mickey a death glare and he flips her off, making sure Yevgeny doesn’t see. “can we get this going?”

“This way.” Svetlana’s six months pregnant with another surrogate and Mickey can’t remember how many kids she’s popped out by now, but she’s waddling and, given that she’s the only one who knows where they’re going, Mickey adjusts his step to hers.

She walks down the hallway holding Yevgeny’s hand with Mickey a few steps behind them. She points to a door near the end of the hall. “There.”

Mickey knocks on the door when he gets a called ‘come in’. Yevgeny moves in front of Mickey and Svetlana, running over and hugging the legs of the man at the desk. 

“Mr. Gallagher! This is my mama ‘n my papa!”

“Hey, Yevgeny.” He turns around. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs….uh…Milkovich.”

Mickey stares blatantly at the redhead in front of him. The guy who’d fucked him senseless just a few days before is his son’s first-grade teacher. Shit.

“Mr. Gallagher.” Svetlana takes his hand and shakes it vigorously. “We sit?”

Ian – fuck, Mickey can’t think of him as Ian – shakes Svetlana’s hand then reaches out for Mickey’s. “Absolutely,” he says as Mickey ignores the gesture. Ian – Mr. Gallagher, goddammit – points to the kid-sized chairs around the low table. Mickey’s not sure how Svetlana sits down, and he’s pretty fucking sure she’s not going to be able to get up without help.

Gallagher sits across from them, looking ridiculous with his knees practically up by his ears, not so different a position than the one he’d had Mickey in the other night. “So, Yevgeny.” Gallagher looks at Yevgeny seated between his parents. “Why don’t you tell your mom and dad what you’ve been learning.”

Yevgeny starts talking about coloring and reading and blocks and recess. Mickey only hears bits and pieces, too busy trying not to stare.

“Very good.” Ian smiles at Yevgeny then looks at Svetlana, carefully avoiding Mickey’s gaze. “Yevgeny’s very bright. He’s eager to learn and gets along well with the majority of his classmates.”

“If this is true, maybe not your son.”

Mickey exhales at Svetlana’s not so quiet comment. His mouth tightens and he looks at Ian. “Are there any problems?”

“He’s a little shy when it comes to group activities and at recess. I’d like to see him more involved in that regard.”

“Kids aren’t allowed to be shy anymore?”

“Of course he’s allowed to be shy, Mr. Milkovich. However we also need him to adequately socialized and capable of functioning in group situations, in being more vocal about things such as offering answers and opinions.”

“Are the other kids giving him shit?”

“What? No! He just doesn’t seem comfortable around groups of people.”

“Ha. Must be father then. Husband gets along with no one. Is asshole to everyone.”

“I’m right fuckin’ here,” Mickey snaps.

“Is point.” She looks at Ian, eyes raking over him like he’s on the menu. “I will work with Yevgeny. Make him good with people.”

“Yeah, well, your skills with people involve giving them blowjobs. You gonna teach him that?” Mickey says it under his breath, but he knows Svetlana hears him. Yevgeny has moved to one of the other tables to color, and he’s ignoring them. Mickey looks at Ian who looks something between amused and horrified. “We done?”

“Yes. Of course. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“Yeah. We got it.” Mickey helps Svetlana to her feet despite the perverse joy he’d get from watching her try to do it on her own. “C’mon, Yevgeny.”

“Mr. Milkovich.”

“Just teach him. That’s your job, right?” Mickey guides Yevgeny toward the door, eyes averted from Ian.

Ian steps closer, catching Mickey’s arm before he can follow Yevgeny and Svetlana out. “Mickey.”

Mickey shakes him off. “No. We’re done here.”

“Does your wife know?” Ian whispers.

“What?” Mickey frowns until he realizes what Ian’s talking about and then he starts to laugh. “Shit, are you serious?”

“You’re married with a kid!” Ian drops his voice. “And three days ago I was buried in your ass.”

Mickey’s felt Ian every one of those three days. “Don’t worry about it. Just a one night thing.”

“Does your wife know you’re cheating on her. Does she know you’re…”

“You’re my son’s fucking teacher. We’re not boyfriends. What my wife does or doesn’t know is none of your fucking business.”

“I’ll have Yevgeny transferred out of my class if this is awkward.”

Mickey steps closer, gets in Ian’s face. “No, you fucking won’t. He’s comfortable with you, he likes you, and you just said a bunch of nice shit about him. And then you said a bunch of shit that’s wrong with him. Which of that shit is he going to believe if you get rid of him?”

“I don’t want this to be awkward.”

Mickey smirks and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It ain’t.”

**

Mickey’s quiet the entire ride home. Yevgeny can’t seem to stop talking about how nice Mr. Gallagher is, how he’s going to try harder to be friendly. How he’s going to make Mr. Gallagher proud. Mickey barely suppresses his flinch at that, even though there’s no reason for Yevgeny to want to make Mickey proud. It’s not like Mickey’s given him anything to be proud of.

“You go out tonight?”

“Nah. Staying home.”

“Good. I go out.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah. Have fun.”

She looks at him and laughs. “You are hot for teacher.”

“Fuck you. No, I’m not. Just go out and quit your fucking…” He pulls the car up to the curb, turning it off and getting out. Svetlana takes Yevgeny inside, and Mickey leans against the car so he can light up a cigarette.

“You watch Yevgeny.”

“Fuck off. I’m just havin’ a smoke.”

She rolls her eyes at him and goes back into the apartment building. Mickey closes his eyes and inhales, holding the smoke for a moment before exhaling it through his nose. So now he’s going to have to go deeper into Boys’ Town to get laid, since Ian goes to his usual club. Jesus Christ. He fucked his son’s teacher. He didn’t _know_ , but that still has to be some Freudian shit right there.

Dropping what’s left of his cigarette on the ground, Mickey grinds it out on the pavement and heaves a sigh before he goes inside.

**

Two weeks later there’s a message on Mickey’s phone from the school asking him to come in. He takes off of work early and goes to the office. Three of the people working there were there when Mickey was in elementary school, so he gets dirty looks the minute he walks in. “I got called to come in.”

“Impressive.” The old hag at the front desk smirks at him. “You’re what? 25 and still getting called to the principal’s office?” Mickey takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he’s not going to start hitting chicks now no matter how much they deserve it. “Of course, to be honest, I’m surprised you ever even made it out of elementary school.”

Mickey’s seriously considering about rethinking his positions on that, but he keeps his hands fisted at his side. “Can I see someone about my kid, or did I leave work for nothing?”

“Mr. Gallagher would like to see you. I can take you to his classroom.” This one’s younger and pretty, and Mickey’s not stupid enough to think the offer’s coming from the kindness of her heart. Probably the old biddies put her up to it so she’d either hit on Mickey and see if he was the kind of dick that cheats on his wife, or they’re making sure he doesn’t steal any crayons or construction paper.

“I know the way.” He goes down the hall to Ian’s – fuck, _Gallagher’s_ \- room and knocks on the open door.

Ian - _Gallagher_ \- looks up from his desk then stands up. “Mr. Milkovich.” He looks surprised even as he reaches for Mickey’s hand. “I’m sorry. I assumed Mrs. Milkovich would be coming.”

“Yeah, well, she had to take the kid home, and we try not to leave him there alone. So what’s this about?”

“Please. Have a seat.”

“How ‘bout I don’t and you just fucking tell me.”

Ian takes a deep breath. “Yevgeny had an altercation with another student today.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘an altercation’?”

“He got in a fight.”

“I know what a fucking altercation is. I want you to be a little more detailed.”

Ian takes a deep breath. “According to the playground monitor, one of the older kids was talking to Yevgeny and Yevgeny punched him in the stomach and then, when the kid doubled over, Yevgeny broke his nose. And his own thumb.”

“Jesus Christ. He needs to not put his thumb in his fist.”

“His…fighting technique isn’t exactly our biggest concern.” Ian clasps his hands together on his desk. “We can’t have him fighting.”

“What were they talking about?” Mickey’s fist are clenched on his thighs. “Or are we just assuming my… what'd you call him? My shy, soft-spoken kid just decided to beat someone up for fun?”

“Yevgeny said he just got angry. Like his papa.”

Mickey nods sharply. “I see.” He rubs his palms on his jeans then gets to his feet. “My kid’s no fucking snitch, and I know how this school operates, so we’ll just deal with this shit ourselves. I’m sure the other kid is a fucking angel.” Mickey gets up and starts to walk away, and Ian stands as well. 

“I heard a lot of stuff when he came in to school. About your family. I know it’s not true.”

“It is, actually. But he’s not like I was. He’s a good kid and he likes it here, and you guys are bound and determined to paint him with the same brush no matter what he does. He’s a Milkovich. That’s all that fucking matters to the assholes at this school.”

“That’s not true.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey snaps. “He’s a fucking six-year-old kid and you’re all just giving up on him, assuming he’s already bad because how could he not be.”

“I’m not giving up on him.”

“You think I’m not used to this?” Mickey’s voice drops in anger. “You think it’s new? He’s a kid. He’s my son. And I’m really fucking sorry I can’t fix the guy I was, but I’d really rather you assholes not turn him into the same. Fuck the sins of the father, okay? Let him have a clean slate.”

“Mr…” Ian takes another step closer. “Mickey. I _swear_ Yevgeny isn’t going to be written off. I won’t write him off.” Mickey starts to say something, to tell Ian off, but Ian interrupts him. “What I can see is that you’re a strong, caring father.”

“You don’t know shit.” Mickey hears the slight hitch in his voice. Fuck.

Ian steps closer until he’s practically pressed against Mickey. He doesn’t smell like he did at the club. He doesn’t smell like the club. Not like sex and sweat and smoke. He smells like chalk and dust and laundry detergent. “I know that you’re here and there aren’t a lot of parents who would be.”

“Yeah, well, you’re accusing my kid of…”

“I know I want to pin you to the wall and fuck you.” Ian’s voice is low and rough. “I want to make you beg again.”

Mickey bites back a groan. “N-not talking about me. About that. Talking about m-my kid.”

Ian runs his finger along the collar of Mickey’s shirt. “I’ll look into it some more.”

“What…what are you doing?”

Ian walks forward, guiding Mickey to the far end of the room, out of sight of the door. “I don’t give a fuck if you are married. I want to fuck you again. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

“I…”

Mickey’s back hits the wall and he catches his breath. Ian’s fingers stroke above his collar again. “Tell me what you want.”

Mickey closes his eyes, easing his legs apart as Ian’s knee slides between them. His hard, muscled thigh presses against the bulge of Mickey’s cock. He grinds down against Ian, his head falling back. Ian leans in and scrapes his teeth across the tendon in Mickey’s neck before biting it, sucking on it. 

“Tell me,” Ian breathes against Mickey’s damp skin.

“This. You.” Mickey can’t help it, can’t keep the words from falling out of his mouth. “Now.”

Ian groans and grabs Mickey’s ass, pulling him higher on his thigh, rocking into him. Mickey buries his face against Ian’s chest, breathing hard. He presses his own leg forward, feeling the hard length of Ian’s dick.

Ian keeps one arm beneath Mickey’s ass and his other hand curves around the back of Mickey’s head. Mickey feels surrounded, wants to be surrounded with Ian’s body wrapped around him.

There’s a knock on the classroom door, and they scramble apart. Ian runs his hand through his hair, and Mickey turns around and stares unseeing at the wall.

“Mr. Gallagher?”

One of the old women from the office pokes her head in the room. “Yes, Ms. Farmer?”

“Just wanted to see if everything was alright with you and Mr. Milkovich.” Mickey can hear the sneer in her voice at his name. Mickey hopes it chokes her. 

“Of course. Is there some reason it wouldn’t be?”

“Well, Mr. Milkovich has been known to have a temper.”

“Is that so? He’s been nothing but pleasant to me. In fact, we were just discussing Yevgeny’s art work.”

“Hm.”

“And I was curious if you know what Bruce and Yevgeny were discussing on the playground.”

“Well, if you’d like to come out in the hallway. Obviously I can’t disclose information about another student with Mr. Milkovich here.”

“Of course.”

Mickey wonders how this woman who knows Ian a hell of a lot better than he does – except in the Biblical sense – doesn’t hear the sarcasm practically dripping from Ian’s words. He can only imagine what she’s telling Ian, convinced that whatever it is will show him Mickey and Yevgeny’s true natures.

Ian comes back in a few minutes later, his expression sharp and dark. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Milkovich.”

“Yeah? That so?” Mickey cocks an eyebrow, smirking at Ian.

“Apparently Yevgeny wasn’t as provoked as I was led to believe.”

This time Mickey outright laughs. “No shit.”

“According to Ms. Farmer, Bruce was making fun of Yevgeny’s name and insulting his parents.”

“Really.” Mickey’s got sarcasm of his own layered thick. “What happened to him?” When Ian doesn’t answer, Mickey shakes his head. “Let me guess. Nothing. He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, so why should he be punished? Jesus, I knew I shouldn’t have had him go to school here. No one’s going to forget he’s a Milkovich, and no one’s going to let him live it down.”

“I’ll make sure he gets a good education.”

“Yeah. In kindergarten.” Mickey clears his throat, hating the feeling inside him, the anger at his own stupidity. Since when does he fucking believe things might change? “We’ll find another school for him. Give him Svetlana’s last name. Because this won’t stop happening. Not gonna let my kid suffer for how fucked I am.”

“Mickey...”

“He’s a kid.” Mickey snaps. “He’s going to get teased about his name. That’s how kids are, and if that was it, well, I’d tell him to buck the fuck up. But no five-year-old needs to hear that his mother was a whore, or that his father was a pimp and a criminal. He’ll learn all that shit soon enough.”

“Give us a chance.”

“You think a single one of those bitches is going to give _him_ one? And a chance to what? Like school? I used to like school, until I heard was what a loser my dad was, a criminal. Why’d I even bother being there. I was just going to be a fuck-up like him, like every single Milkovich in history. Like Colin and Joey and Iggy. And not just the kids. The teachers. You know how it feels to have someone you look up to as one of the most amazing and smart people in the world tell you you’re useless? Worthless? Well, I’ll be fucked before I let that happen to him. I may be a shit father, but I’m not going to let that happen. He deserves better.”

“He’s not you. And you’re not your dad. And if you take him out, he might think that you don’t think he can handle it, that he isn’t st4rong enough. Those old bats in the office are dying out, retiring. The teachers don’t...”

“I would guess that, unless the teacher isn’t from around here, they’ve been a victim of a Milkovich. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your idealism and what you’re trying to say, but...”

Ian sighs when Mickey shrugs. “Let me help him. You. We’ll work at his self-esteem and how to defend himself, not just with his fists. How to ignore the bullshit.”

“You gonna be a surrogate dad or something? Make up for all the shit I’m not?”

“I thought maybe we could start as friends. You and me. Help him. You’ve been the bully, right? Well, I’ve been the victim. Between the two of us, we’ve got it covered.”

“You don’t even fucking know me.”

“I know Yevgeny. And I know enough. What do you say?”

“That you’re insane.”

“And you’ll meet me on the playground at ten on Saturday?”

Mickey blows out a breath and wonder how this guy even has him considering this. Mickey’s not usually one to let his dick make decisions for him. “Once.”

Ian smiles. “Okay. Once.”

Mickey shakes his head. “I gotta get out of here before you convince me to buy fucking bonds or something like you’re Captain A-fucking-merica.”

Ian gestures toward the door. “By the way, I’ll be at the club on Friday night. If you can get away.”

Mickey scoffs, pretending he’s got some sense of self-preservation. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

**

“You talk to school?”

“Yeah.” All Mickey wants is food and a hot shower and bed. And, if he’s honest, a long, ultimately unsatisfying session with his right hand. What he _really_ wants is a long, _very satisfying_ session with Ian.

“And?”

“Yevgeny got in a fight.”

“No shit.”

Mickey sighs and rubs his face with his hands as he sits down. “Some other kid was making fun of his name, talking shit about us.”

Svetlana’s eyes narrow. “This is boy Yevgeny hit?”

“Yeah.”

Svetlana hums to herself and walks over to the fridge. She brings back a beer and sets it in front of Mickey. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“To drink.”

Mickey’s immediately suspicious. Svetlana being nice to him is new and uncharted territory, which means it’s treacherous as fuck. “I know that, Jesus. Why?”

“You defend Yevgeny to school, yes?”

“Course I did.”

“Then deserve beer.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Svetlana huffs an annoyed breath, which makes Mickey feel a little better. “Go say goodnight and I will give you leftovers.”

“Yes, your highness.” Mickey grumbles and stands up, taking a long drink before heading back to Yevgeny's room. He’s sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead on his knees. He’s a little small for his age, and with his shoulders hunched, he reminds Mickey way too much of himself. No bruises, not the same fears, but enough that it makes Mickey realize he’s fucking something up along the way. “Hey.”

Yevgeny doesn’t look up. “Hi, Papa.”

Mickey sits at the foot of the bed. “You okay?”

“Getted sent home from school.”

“I heard.”

“I had to ‘pologize.” His brow furrows. “Didn’t want to. He was the mean one.”

“I know.” Mickey tries to remember if his dad ever defended him to anyone. Of course, his dad didn’t believe in defending, just being on the defensive all the time.

“Didn’t even hurt him. He was laughing until Mrs. Anderson came over. He said I was a wimp. Said he’d heard Mi’koviches are ‘posed to be badasses, but I was a pussy. I was the son of a wore and a bandage.”

“Wore and a bandage?” Mickey frowns, imagining he and Yevgeny look identical. “Oh! Whore and a bastard?”

“And those are bad things. And you and Mama aren’t bad!”

“Oh, bud.” Mickey shifts further onto the bed and leans back against the wall. “C’mere, huh?”

Yevgeny frowns, and Mickey can tell he thinks he’s in trouble, but he does move over and sits on Mickey’s lap. 

Mickey ruffles his hair. “You want to hang out with Mr. Gallagher this weekend? Talk about how to deal with this?”

“He’s not mad at me?”

“No. He’s not.”

“You’re sure?” He looks suspicious, and Mickey definitely recognizes that look. 

“Absolutely. We talked about it. He wants to help.”

“If he’s not angry...”

“He’s not. I promise.”

Relief seems to wash through Yevgeny and he smiles before scrambling back onto the bed to climb under the covers. “I love you, Papa.”

“Love you too, kiddo. Sleep good.”

“Papa?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you and Mama don’t sleep together to make babies?”

Mickey scoots off the bed so Yevgeny can’t see his face. He knows Mickey’s gay and vaguely what that means, but the question still makes him uncomfortable. “Mama and I don’t love each other like that.”

“But you made me.”

“Yeah. We did.” Mickey ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead. “Go to sleep, monkey.”

Mickey goes back out to finish his beer. Svetlana sits down opposite him with a beer of her own. “Will you ever tell him?”

“What? That his grandfather forced his mother to rape his dad because his dad’s gay? Hadn’t planned on it.”

She takes a sip of the beer and is uncharacteristically quiet. They don’t talk about this, and Mickey really wishes they weren’t talking about it now. “Do you hate me for this?”

Now he _really_ wishes they weren’t talking about it. “You were just as much a victim as I was. So I don’t hate you, and I don’t blame you. I blame him for that, and I blame him for making us get married, and I hate myself a lot for being too much of a pussy to stand up to him. But the how and the why of it are always going to be there.”

She nods. “You are good father to him.”

“It’s not his fault, right?” Family was the one thing Mickey had always understood – good or bad. Terry wasn’t Mickey’s fault and Mickey wasn’t Yevgeny’s. Didn’t change shit, but they were still family. 

“No. Not his fault.” Svetlana finishes her beer and looks away. “And what if we find other people?”

Mickey stills with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Is this just in general or are you telling me something?”

Svetlana shrugs. 

“Oh.” Mickey laughs softly to himself even though nothing about it is funny. “So I’m moving out.”

“Is not like that.”

“So they’re just moving in? One big happy family.” Family. Again. Always.

“I do not know for sure what it is. But is something.”

“Well, congratulations.” Mickey drains his beer and walks into the kitchen, throwing the bottle into the recycling hard enough that it shatters. “I’m going to bed.”

**

He’s drunk off his ass. He’s probably drunker than he’s ever been, which is saying something, by the time he actually sees Ian at the club. He’s already sucked two guys off in the bathroom, and likely number three is buying him another round. Ian puts a hand on the guy’s shoulder and leans in, whispering something to him. They guy looks at Mickey and then Ian and disappears into the crows. Mickey scowls at Ian. “What the fuck was that?”

“I just told him your boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate him talking advantage of you.”

“No one’s taking advantage of me, and I don’t have a fucking boyfriend.” He’s slurring his words; glad he’s leaning on the counter for support. “Don’t have shit.”

“Wife and kid.”

Mickey laughs and slides off his stool. He’s still holding the counter as support as he stands close to Ian. “Thanks for ruining my night, _Mr._ Gallagher.”

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He pat’s Ian’s chest twice. “And if you ever cockblock me again, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

Ian steps back, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry.”

Mickey brushes past him and stumbles his way to the bathroom. Now that he’s not actively in pursuit of oblivion he can feel his head pounding, and he leans against one of the graffiti-covered walls. He closes his eyes and counts his pulse as it beats loudly in his ears. The door opens and Mickey opens his eyes to see Ian looking him over. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Come on.” Ian sighs when Mickey doesn’t move. He rolls his eyes and grabs Mickey’s arm. “Come on. I’m taking your drunk ass home.”

Mickey’s suddenly too tired and too drunk to protest, so he lets Ian pull him outside and hustle him into a cab. Ian gives the driver an address, and Mickey’s pretty sure it’s not his. When they get out of the cab a little while later, Mickey’s sure he doesn’t live there. “This isn’t my place.”

“I don’t know where your place is. This is mine.” Ian leads Mickey into the building. The elevator makes Mickey’s stomach swirl and when they get to Ian’s apartment he’s grateful to sit on the couch were Ian deposits him. “Coffee or water?”

“Tequila.”

“Coffee coming right up.”

Mickey watches Ian go then closes his eyes. The room is spinning and, while he can feel it with his eyes closed, he can’t see it. He feels the couch dip beside him and heat pressed against his hand when Ian comes back.

“Drink this and then we’ll get some water and Tylenol in you.”

Mickey keeps his eyes closed, but he takes a drink of the coffee. It’s almost too strong, but the burn chases the alcohol down his throat. He takes several sips before finally lowering the cup. “Thanks.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“You’re wearing fucking eyeliner and glitter. Don’t pull that kindergarten teacher voice on me.”

Ian laughs and it’s fucking ridiculous, too loud in Mickey’s head. “I’ll go wash off the glitter.” He gets off the couch and Mickey opens his eyes in time to see him disappear down the hallway. He glances around once Ian’s gone, and the room seems to be staying relatively still. There are bookcases and a TV, an iPod dock and a desk. It’s about what Mickey expects. What he doesn’t expect is for Ian to walk out in a pair of low-slung sweatpants that show off the cut of his hips.

Ian tugs the towel off his neck and rubs it over his hair. “Better?”

“You think a half-naked kindergarten teacher is better?”

Ian shrugs. “You didn’t mind me half-naked before you knew I was a teacher.”

“My _son’s_ teacher.”

Ian rolls his eyes this time and flops down on the couch next to Mickey, legs sprawled. The room spins a little bit again and Mickey blinks. “Why were you trying to self-destruct tonight?”

“I wasn’t. I was trying to get a drink and get laid. Just like when I met you.”

“I was watching you that night. You weren’t that drunk.”

“How the fuck do you know? You didn’t even know me.”

“I was looking right at you while I fucked you. You were _all_ there.”

“I’m sorry. Can you tell me what fucking business of yours any of this is?”

“It’s not.”

“So why the fuck are we talking about it.”

Ian gets up abruptly and the couch shifts again. Mickey closes his eyes, and it seems to make the coolness of Ian’s voice stand out even more. “I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.”

“We got married because she was pregnant. It was... it _wasn’t_ a... Neither of us really wanted it, but we didn’t really have a lot of choices. My dad...” Mickey’s glad he’s drunk because he’d never admit any of this sober. “I pretended I was straight for a long time. Svetlana knew from the start that I wasn’t, but we were kind of stuck with the situation. Once Yevgeny was born, we went for more of a ‘live and let live’ approach.”

“Um. Wow.” Ian sits down on the desk chair. “That’s...”

“And it’s been good. Neither of us had anyone we... And now she does.”

“Oh.”

Mickey laughs roughly. “So now I’m gonna lose my apartment, lose my kid. So I thought I’d get drunk and get laid and forget the whole shit show.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Like I told you the other day.” Mickey shrugs. “Unless she’s hooking up with a pedophile or a serial killer, kid’ll be better off.”

“Except you’re his dad and you love him.”

“Just never thought about this, you know?” Mickey’s not sure why he’s still talking. He’s not looking for sympathy, and he’s never needed to justify himself before. “Not because I thought she loved me or some shit like that. I was never looking for someone, so I never thought about her looking.”

“Her finding someone doesn’t change your relationship with him.”

“Until I’m not there every day.” Mickey shakes his head like he can shake the conversation at the same time. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the cushion. “Are we gonna fuck?”

“What?”

Ian sounds surprised, and Mickey wants to laugh. “You brought me home. Assumed we were gonna fuck.”

“I hadn’t planned on it, actually. I mean. I had. But you’re fucked up and emotional, and I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

“Let me get this straight. I was this close to getting laid, and you cockblocked me. For no reason whatsoever.”

“There was a reason.”

“Yeah? What was that?”

“You looked really miserable for a guy who was about to get laid.”

Mickey cracks open one eye and nails Ian with a glare. “You know, fucking me and teaching my kid doesn’t mean you know me. You don’t know shit about me.”

“You’re right. But I know what it’s like to let people use you because at least it feels good for a while. At least you’re worth something to someone.”

Mickey blows out a breath. “So I’m crashing here?”

“Yeah.” Ian stands up. “You want the couch or the bed?”

“You’ve already fucked me on a desk and we almost got off in your classroom. We need separate rooms?”

“I think we do tonight. Because I’m pretty sure if I wake up with you, I’m not going to want to get out of bed. And we’ve got a meeting with Yevgeny in the morning.”

“Shit.” Mickey sighs. “I’m already here. I’ll take the couch.”

**

Mickey’s wishing like hell he had his sunglasses long before Ian parks outside the apartment building. “You want to come up?”

“Sure.” Ian kills the engine and follows Mickey to the eighth floor. It’s quiet for a Saturday, and Mickey’s grateful because his head is pounding despite the four Tylenol he’d swallowed at Ians.

“Papa!” Yevgeny launches himself at Mickey when he walks in the door. “I was so worried!”

“Did you think I’d forget you? Never.” His headache doesn’t matter as he swings Yevgeny up onto his shoulders, careful not to look at Svetlana. “You got plans?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay. Have fun.” He nods to Ian who keeps _looking_ at Svetlana. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Yevgeny leans forward and waves at Ian. “Hi, Mr. Gallagher!”

“Hey there.”

“Papa says you’re gonna help me beat up the bad guys. Papa is good at beating up bad guys.”

“No,” Ian says with a hint of a laugh. “We’re going to work on ways _not_ to beat up the bad guys.”

Yevgeny bounces on Mickey’s shoulders, tugging at Mickey’s hair. Mickey wants to groan in pain, but he manages to bite his lip and keep from making a sound. “Oh yeah.”

Mickey sets Yevgeny on the ground and they go down to Ian’s car. He drives them to a nearby park and they practice teasing Yevgeny and helping him think of things to say in response and how to walk away. Mickey also teaches him how to throw a punch, much to Ian’s disapproval.

“What? I don’t need him breaking his thumb.”

“Well, he could just not fight.”

“He’s a Milkovich on the South Side. Even if he doesn’t want to fight, he’s going to have to fight. Don’t tell me you didn’t know how to fight.” When Ian doesn’t answer Mickey goes on. “I’d rather he know how to do it without getting hurt.”

“Okay. Okay. Fair enough.”

Yevgeny catches on quickly, and Mickey figures it’s all in the Milkovich genes. After getting a few punches in, he runs off tot he swings. Mickey grins and looks over at Ian who’s grinning too. “You want to stick around? We’ll probably get ice cream. It’s cool if you don’t. I mean, it’s Saturday. I’m sure you’ve got better shit to do.”

“No. Nothing. And ice cream sounds great. If you don’t mind me hanging around.”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did.” Mickey heads over to a bench near the swings, watching Yevgeny. Ian’s thigh is warm, not quite touching Mickey’s. “How long you been a teacher?”

“Five years. Third grade for two and kindergarten for three.”

“Must like it a lot. Can’t imagine wanting to be around that many ankle-biters.” Mickey shudders and Ian bumps him with his shoulder. It’s as warm as Ian’s thigh and Mickey doesn’t like the urge to lean against it. 

“Yeah. Growing up around here, well, education isn’t much of a priority. I thought maybe I could change that.”

“Ambitious.”

“What about you. What do you do?”

Mickey shrugs, focusing on Yevgeny. He works hard, so he knows he shouldn’t feel ashamed, but telling Ian makes him feel like he’s not worth much of anything. “Janitor. Mercy Hospital. I do days so I can help with Yevgeny or so that one of us can go out.”

Ian keeps talking as if Mickey didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. “So is it a marriage of convenience or something? A green card type thing?”

“Something like that. Had sex. Knocked her up. Did the right thing.”

“The right thing.” Ian laughs, and it’s the first time Mickey remembers hearing something bitter in Ian’s tone. It’s gone when he speaks again. “You both love Yevgeny though.”

“He’s our kid. I mean, it wasn’t always good. I resented the hell out of him for a long time. I was seeing someone when it all went down. He wasn’t really happy with being kept a secret or anything else. But my dad’s a homophobic asshole, so I wasn’t about to come out for anyone. I mean, he knew, but he assumed that being with Svetlana ‘fixed’ me.”

“I imagine it was tough on all of you.”

Mickey shrugs. “It’s the past. Svetlana and I managed to work it out. It’s not ideal, but it works well enough.”

“Papa! Watch!” Yevgeny slides down the tallest slide. He screams happily all the way down until he falls off the bottom of the slide onto his butt with a loud ‘oomph’. “Papa!”

Mickey laughs, more than grateful for the reprieve, and gets off the bench, heading over to Yevgeny. “You okay, buddy?”

Yevgeny is frowning and glaring at Mickey at the same time. He looks like a miniature version of Mickey and he can tell Ian can see it by the choked laugh he hears behind him. “Don’t laugh at me, Papa.” He gets up and dusts off his butt. “Swings.”

“Bossy.” Yevgeny narrows his eyes at Mickey and storms over to the swings. Mickey shrugs at Ian and follows him, helping him onto the rubber seat before pulling him back. Ian comes along too, sitting on the swing next to Yevgeny.

“You gonna push me too?”

“Your legs broken?” Mickey asks lightly.

“Push him, Papa!”

Ian smiles smugly and Mickey glares at him, but he comes over after he lets Yevgeny grown and shoves Ian hard. Ian just laughs, the fucker. Mickey alternates between them until Yevgeny is laughing in delight, racing Ian higher and higher. 

“Mr. Gallagher! Look! No hands!” Yevgeny lets go of the chains as he swings upward.

“Shit!” Mickey’s in motion almost instantaneously, rushing forward to catch him. Yevgeny screams and Ian digs his feet into the dirt to stop. It feels like slow motion as Yevgeny’s head bounces off Mickey’s and there’s an explosion of red from Mickey’s nose. They both go down hard but Mickey turns so he can bear the brunt of the fall. His breath comes out in a wet grunt and Yevgeny’s head bounces forward and he gags as his chin hits his chest. His head goes back again, nailing Mickey on the nose once more, then Mickey’s head hits the ground. 

“Fuck.” The world seems to go back to normal speed just in time for him to feel the impact of his head on the dirt, and his voice is thick, clogged with blood.

Yevgeny’s screaming and crying, and people are gathering around them. Ian grabs Yevgeny off of Mickey and holds him close. He soothes him with soft noises and by rubbing his hand over Yevgeny’s back. Mickey lays there on the ground for a moment then rolls over. He gets a faceful of dirt before he gets to his hands and knees.

No one moves to help Mickey up and once he starts coughing blood they all slink away. Ian carries Yevgeny over and squats down beside him as Mickey spits out a mouthful of blood. “You okay?”

Mickey coughs again shifts back on his knees, wiping away more blood, though he’s pretty sure it’s a lost cause. “He okay?”

“Goose egg where he hit you. Scared mostly.”

“Papa? Papa?” Yevgeny’s voice his high and shrill as eh struggles out of Ian’s arms to get to Mickey. Mickey’s got blood all over his shirt, but Yevgeny doesn’t seem to care as he wraps himself around Mickey as best he can.

“It’s okay,” Mickey assures him. His voice is still thick with the blood trickling down the back of his throat, so he’s not sure how reassuring he sounds. “It’s okay.”

“I sorry, Papa.” Yevgeny is half-speaking, half-sobbing and Ian looks bewildered as Yevgeny starts speaking Russian. Mickey rubs his Yevgeny’s back and presses his face against his neck. It hurts like hell, but it seems to calm Yevgeny down. “No idea what you just said.” He kisses the top of Yevgeny’s head. “But it’s okay. Lesson learned.”

Yevgeny sniffles but he nods, not moving anywhere. Mickey looks at Ian who nods. “I’ll go get the car and take you guys home.”

Setting Yevgeny down starts a whole new cascade of tears, but Mickey has to grab the swing to pull himself off the ground. He feels like he’s going to pass out when he bends down to pick Yevgeny up, but he manages to stay on his feet. They walk a little ways behind Ian. Yevgeny’s arms are tight around Mickey’s neck, tears and snot staining the collar of Mickey’s shirt.

Mickey grabs the hem of the ruined shirt and tries to wipe off what he can of the blood. His head feels like it’s split in two, his whole face throbs, and it hurts to keep his eyes open. He leans against a tree near the curb until Ian pulls up with the car and hops out. Mickey relinquishes Yevgeny who seems to have cried himself out.

Ian buckles him in and then comes back over to Mickey, helping him into the passenger seat. Mickey finally closes his eyes and everything hurts a fraction less, but he feels like the world is tilting on its axis, and he doesn’t even have the benefit of being drunk. The car shifts slightly when Ian climbs in.

“Have to do a rain check on the ice cream.” Mickey’s voice sounds ridiculous to his own ears, nasally and thick, the words slurred.

“Do we need to stop at the store for anything?” Ian asks. “Pain meds? Ice pack?”

“Don’t think they have a drug store that’s got something to cover this unless they’re straight-up selling narcotics over the counter.”

Ian starts the car and drives. Mickey tilts his head back to staunch any further bleeding, and the copper taste clogs his throat. Ian turns on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he listens to the Sox game. The car eventually comes to a stop, roughly about the time Mickey’s decided to risk the pain of strangling Ian if he doesn’t stop tapping. Mickey opens his eyes and regrets it the minute the sun hits him, piercing harder than any hangover he’s ever had. “Fuck,” he groans.”

“Yevgeny’s asleep.” Ian’s voice is low. “I’ll carry him inside for you.” 

Mickey knows he should probably protest, but his face is on fire, and he feels unsteady on his feet. “Yeah.”

The change in elevation on the ride to the eighth floor, as slight as it is, makes Mickey feel like someone’s punching him repeatedly and by the time they get to the apartment door, his eyes are nearly swollen shut. Ian takes the key from him and opens the door, going from room to room until he finds one decorated with airplanes, super heroes, and stuffed animals. “This one’s Yevgeny’s right? I mean, there’s not something you should tell me?”

Mickey flips him off on the way to the kitchen where he grabs a bag of frozen corn and puts it on his face. He tilts his head back and sways. He reaches out for the counter, huffing out a startled breath as Ian’s hand catches his arm. 

“Let’s get you off your feet.” Ian guides Mickey to the couch and sits him down. Mickey expects him to sit as well, but instead he hears Ian walk away. “You’ve got nothing but Tylenol in your medicine cabinet, but at least it’s extra-strength.” Mickey’s mouth twitches, stilling when Ian’s thumb touches his lower lip. “Open wide.”

“Ian, I’m...” He doesn’t get any further before Ian puts the pills on Mickey’s tongue. There’s a wet drip that’s Mickey’s only warning before Ian puts the water glass to his lips and forces him to swallow them down. Mickey splutters, but it hurts, and Ian’s laughing at him. “Fuck off.”

“Nope.” Ian grabs Mickey’s wrists and pulls him into a less-slumped position. He takes the bag of corn away from Mickey’s face. Mickey hisses sharply when Ian grabs the bottom of Mickey’s shirt and tugs it up, trying carefully not to touch Mickey’s face as he pulls it over his head. “Hope you’re not overly fond of this shirt, because it’s pretty much complete trash.”

Mickey opens his eyes as best he can to see Ian dunk a mostly clean corner of the shirt in the water remaining in the glass. He carefully dabs Mickey’s face with it.

“Ow. _Fuck_.”

“Sorry.” Ian doesn’t really sound sorry, since he’s intent on doing it again, carefully cleaning Mickey up. “Okay. We’re going to have to move this to the bathroom.”

Mickey starts to laugh then stops at the pain. “That’s what all the boys say.”

“You sound ridiculous. Stop talking.”

Mickey flips him off again, but does what Ian says. Ian makes him sit on the toilet and tilt his head back. It doesn’t take too long before Ian’s got Mickey’s face cleaned up, and right about the time he declares Mickey done, the pain has blossomed everywhere.

Ian hisses at whatever he sees in Mickey’s face and helps him to his feet. “C’mon. Bed.” 

Ian guides Mickey to his room and props him up on a pillow. Mickey groans roughly and immediately closes his eyes, praying it will help somewhat. It doesn’t. 

Ian sits down on the edge of the bed and rubs his hand over Mickey’s thigh. “I’m going to take your keys.”

“Why?”

“Going out to get you something that might help with the pain.” His hand stays on Mickey’s thigh and the other one comes up to stroke Mickey’s hair back. “Try to get some sleep.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “Right.”

“You going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go away.”

“I’ll remember that when I get back, and you’re begging me to put you out of your misery.”

“Ain’t begging you for shit.” He can hear Ian laughing as he walks away. Mickey’s face is on fire, and it feels like all the blood in the universe is pounding through his skull. Somehow he manages to fall asleep or, more likely, pass out. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but when he manages to open his eyes, which is more like peering blearily through his lashes, Yevgeny is lying next to him. 

Mickey ignores the pain in his head shouting at him and leans over to kiss Yevgeny’s hair. Somehow it alleviates something, eases a weight off of Mickey, and he manages to doze, if it can be called that, until he hears a key in the lock.

Ian comes in the room a few minutes later and pulls a baggie out of his pocket. Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and the movement makes him want to shoot himself.

“Hydrocodone.” Ian shrugs and sits on the edge of the bed again. “My brother’s sort of a dealer.”

“Sort of?”

“Just take them.” Ian’s hand is on Mickey’s leg again, his thumb rubbing arcs over his skin. “I’ll stick around in case Yevgeny wakes up.”

Mickey looks down at Yevgeny then back up at Ian. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Because.” Even through his swollen eyes Mickey can see Ian’s blush and his grin. “Now swallow like a good boy.”

“What makes you think you’d get that lucky?”

Ian laughs softly and leans in, his voice low and hot. “I know I will. So do you.”

Mickey swallows the pills and ignores the heat in his groin and Ian’s grin. “I don’t like you.”

Ian’s smile widens. “Liar.”

**

Mickey wakes up feeling slightly less like he wants to die. It’s pitch lack in his room except for the faint red glow of his clock. It’s nearly two and he’s alone in the bed. Standing feels like a Herculean effort, and Frankenstein’s monster is probably more graceful. Mickey’s mouth feels like he’s been swallowing socks.

The living room lights are off, but the TV’s on. Mickey walks over to see Yevgeny asleep and Ian’s eyes mostly shut. Yevgeny has a ring of brown around his mouth, and Mickey smiles. It hurts like fuck, but he can’t quite help it. “You got him ice cream.”

“Your freezer was severely lacking.” Ian stretches and yawns. “Did you know you can watch a _lot_ of Mickey Mouse in eight hours?”

“I did. Yes.”

“Did you know it can be the same episode for eight hours?”

“Yeah. Knew that too.”

“And I thought being a teacher took endurance. If I never hear that fucking theme song again I will die a happy man.”

“Why don’t you crash in his bed? He can sleep with me.” Mickey scans Ian’s body as Ian gets to his feet. “Or, well, you’re not going to fit on his bed, so you can take mine, and I’ll crash with him.”

“Probably be weird for him to wake up to his teacher in bed with his dad, huh?”

“Be weird for his dad.”

“Svetlana going to be home tonight?”

“Doubt it.”

“I’ll take the couch. If I’m in your bed, I plan on it involving more of a re-enactment of the first time we met.” 

Mickey lightly touches his nose, regretting it instantly. “Not gonna happen for a while.”

Ian shrugs. “You’ll just have to make it worth my wait.”

**

Mickey gets shit from Svetlana for putting Yevgeny at risk, but she apologizes when Mickey asks her what she would have done. She doesn’t apologize so much as just stop yelling at him, which Mickey figures is almost the same thing. He lets the guys at work assume whatever they want.

Ian texts him at least once a day during the lunch hour, asking Mickey to send him a picture of his face. Mickey sends him a picture of his middle finger. Ian always responds that there are impressionable children around, and he just wants Mickey’s face to use as a deterrent. Mickey asks as a deterrent for what, and Ian refuses to answer him. Mickey sends him another picture, this time with both middle fingers.

_”You’re pretty dextrous with your hands >:)”_

_“Fuck off. You’re my kid’s teacher right now.”_

_“I’m on lunch. Maybe you’re texting me about his academic achievement.”_

_“He’s in kindergarten and you’re texting me. Get back to educating the youth of America.”_

Mickey hates that he’s smiling when he puts his phone away. Hates that Ian makes him smile. Except that he doesn’t.

On Thursday he’s still smiling when he gets home until he sees the guy sitting on his couch. “Um.”

“Hi.” He stands up immediately and turns toward Mickey with his hand extended. “I’m Dave. You must be Mickey.”

“Yeah. Because I fucking live here. Why the fuck are you here?”

“Oh, Svetlana and I...”

“He is boyfriend. We’re taking Yevgeny out to dinner.”

“Without asking me?”

“Do not need your permission. He is my son.”

Mickey bites the inside of his lip. “He’s mine too.”

Dave looks from Mickey to Svetlana. She shakes her head. “Going out to dinner.”

“He’s got school tomorrow.” Mickey’s face has almost gotten to the point where it doesn’t hurt constantly, but the ache is back when he tightens his jaw.

“We’ll be home early,” Dave assures him.

“This _isn’t_ your home,” Mickey snaps. “Not fucking yet anyway.”

“Enough.” Svetlana’s voice shuts them both up. “He will be home for bath and bed. Also he can hear. No fighting.”

Mickey shrugs, admitting defeat. Svetlana’s right. “He better be.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts derisively before calling Yevgeny. He comes out and eyes Dave warily before coming over to Mickey for a hug. Mickey squeezes him tight and tells him to have fun and to order the most expensive thing on the kids’ menu. Yevgeny giggles then goes to put his coat on.

As soon as they’re gone, Mickey grabs a beer out of the fridge and takes it to his bedroom. He sits on the bed, propped against the headboard, and drinks half of it down before pulling his phone out and sending Ian a text.

_”You in the middle of grading alphabet penmanship?”_

_“Watching TV.”_

_“S & boyfriend took Y out to dinner.”_

_“You okay?”_

_“Not sure.”_

_“Need company?”_

_“Nah. Not even sure why I text you.”_

_“Send me a pic.”_

_“Why? You have impressionable kids around?”_

_“No. Just want to see you.”  
“We’re not some sort of couple.”_

_“Beaten up guys are my spank bank.”_

_“You’re fucked up man. Besides, I didn’t get beaten up.”_

_“Whatever. Picture. C’mon.”_

Mickey sighs and takes a picture and sends it to Ian. _“You’re messed up.”_

_“You’re turning me on.”_

_“You need serious help.”_

The phone rings and Mickey smirks at Ian’s number. “What?”

“You think you could give a blow job yet?”

“Dude, you’ve been begging for a picture so you could judge whether or not I could blow someone?”

“No. Not someone.” Ian laughs. “Me.”

“Wait. Wait. Is this you trying to talk dirty to me?”

“Is it working?” There’s a silence that Mickey thinks expresses his answer quite well, but when Ian talks again, his voice is deeper. “Don’t you want to be on your knees for me?”

It’s hard not to groan because apparently Mickey’s body has decided he’s easy as fuck for Ian Gallagher. “What would I do down there?”

“Watch.” Ian’s voice goes straight to Mickey’s dick. “Watch me undo my jeans, push them down my thighs. Tug my boxers down and let my dick smack you across the face. Leave a trail of come on your cheek.”

Mickey presses his thighs together. “What do you think I’m going to do then?” Mickey doesn’t recognize his own voice, so deep and rough. “Close my eyes and find your dick with my mouth?”

Ian groans. “Bet your mouth is as hot and tight as your ass.”

“Wet,” Mickey breathes. “Slick around you. Remember how thick and long you are. Fuck. Fill me up so good.” Mickey closes his eyes, palming his dick through his jeans before undoing his fly. He can picture Ian, remember the feel of him pushing inside him. “Think I can take all of you in my mouth? Take you deep?”

“Fuck, yes.” Ian says. “Grab your hair and hold you still as I fuck your mouth. Feel you gag around me as I hit the back of your throat. Feel you swallow desperately around me.”

“Ian,” Mickey moans, pressing his hand harder on his dick, thrusting up into the pressure. “Fuck.”

“Stare down at you sucking me. Your mouth stretched tight, lips red, shiny spit on my dick every time you pull back.” Mickey gives in and wraps his hand around his dick, squeezing hard before he starts stroking. Ian’s breath is rough and shaky in Mickey’s ear, and Mickey knows he sounds the same. “Lashes on your cheeks wet with tears because it’s so fucking much. The noises you’d make around me. Fuck. Want to fuck your throat. Want you wrapped around me, Mick. Want... fuck.” Ian’s breath hitches, and Mickey knows Ian’s just as close. “God, I fucking want...”

“Want to swallow you,” Mickey gasps, voice breaking. “Suck you down.”

Ian’s groan fills Mickey’s ear followed by a series off huffed breaths. The sound pushes Mickey over the edge. He drops his head back and smacks it on the headboard when he comes. 

“Shit.”

Ian’s voice is hoarse. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Great. Shit.”

“Jesus. That was...”

“Yeah.” Mickey reaches for his beer, drinking the rest of it. He wipes his other hand on his t-shirt. “Shit.”

“Want to fuck you again.”

“Ian.”

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

“You know I do.”

“We wouldn’t be dating. Just fucking. And it’s kindergarten. Yevgeny’s not being graded on his coloring skills. I’m not going to flunk him if you piss me off.”

“It’d be weird.”

“Okay. Fine. I’m not going to fucking beg for your ass.” Ian hangs up and Mickey thumps his head against the bed again. The frustration and hurt in Ian’s tone kill whatever afterglow was left after the conversation headed into relationship territory, and Mickey sits there for a moment before getting up and stripping. He grabs his sweats and a new t-shirt and disappears into the bathroom for the hottest shower he can stand. He still feels like shit when he’s done, flopping on his bed and playing with his phone he finally gives in and texts some stupid kindergarten-level joke to Ian. Ian sends him an emoticon of a stupid smiley face with its tongue stuck out. Mickey smiles and relaxes, turning on the TV and flipping through channels until he hears Svetlana and Yevgeny come inside. There’s a whole lot of Russian and giggles from the bathroom, and then a pajama-clad Yevgeny is climbing onto Mickey’s bed with hugs and toothpaste-scented kisses. 

“Papa! I had sketty and garlic bread _and_ cake!”

“Cake?”

“Yeah. Mama said I was super good, and Dave said I was the bestest little boy he had _ever_ met.”

“Well, that’s true. I mean, I’ve never met one better than you.”

“Mama says it’s bedtime, but I want you to read the story.”

“Okay, monkey. Go get in bed.” Yevgeny scrambles off the bed and to his room. Mickey follows him and tucks him in before reading the story Yevgeny picks out. Once his eyes close, Mickey presses a kiss to his forehead and turns off the light.

Svetlana is on the couch when he comes out. She holds up a beer. “Come sit.”

Mickey exhales and walks over, taking the beer. He knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t know what it means or how it will play out. He sits opposite her and she looks at him for a long minute. Finally Mickey sighs. “Just say it, huh?”

“He asks me to marry him.”

“I see.”

“I say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Need divorce from you.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah. Right. I’ll look into it tomorrow.” There’s no emotion in his voice, all of it too busy rolling around in his stomach. 

“We will move in with him.”

“Right.” He nods and sets the beer on the table, untouched. He doesn’t look at her when he stands up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Mickey.”

She never calls him by his name, so it actually stops him for a moment. The lack of motion seems to let something seep out into his voice. “What? I don’t have a say in this. You’ve made up your mind. Telling me is just an afterthought.”

“We will make schedule for Yevgeny. I’m not trying to take him from you.”

“Right. Weekends. Weekends unless you’re doing family stuff. Until you’re doing family stuff every weekend, and he starts calling him dad.”

“Won’t happen. Won’t let it. I name him after father that sold me. You think family does not matter to me?”

Mickey rubs his face, ignoring the last vestiges of hurt from his black eye and broken nose. “I’m a good dad. I know you don’t think so, and I wasn’t always. But I am.”

“I’m not taking him away.”

Mickey nods. “I’ll get the divorce going tomorrow.” He stops halfway to his room and looks back. Svetlana’s standing so he can stare pointedly at her pregnant belly. “It’s not a surrogate is it?” She doesn’t answer, but her silence says enough.

**

It’s nearly five when Ian walks out of the school, messenger bag over his shoulder. Mickey’s been waiting for nearly an hour, getting antsier by the minute. He pushes off Ian’s car as soon as he sees him. “Hey.”

Ian’s eyes widen then his brow furrows. “Hey.”

“Take me out for a drink.”

“And why would I do that?” He looks somewhat wary, and Mickey sighs. 

“Because my wife’s getting married to the guy whose kid she’s carrying, and she’s going to take my kid when she moves in with him, and I’m pretty sure that going to a club to get fucked senseless isn’t going to be nearly as satisfying as it was when you did it, and I don’t have any fucking friends, and I know I’m an asshole, but I don’t want to be alone when I get completely drunk off my ass.”

Ian opens his mouth then shuts it. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so that much at one time. Ever.”

“Right.” Mickey shakes his head and shoves his hands in his jacket pocket. “Forget it.”

“No.” Ian reaches out and grabs Mickey’s arm. “Sorry. Couldn’t you try to get custody?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mickey laughs bitterly. “Can’t imagine who wouldn’t pick a single gay dad with a criminal record over a mom with a built-in family.”

“What about a non-single dad?”

“What?”

“What if you were in a steady relationship?”

“Doesn’t matter, because I’m not. And I’m not going to take him away from his mom.”

“Joint custody.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“You could move in with me.”

“Are you on drugs? I barely fucking know you.”

“It’d be easier for you to get joint custody.”

“You’re fucking nuts.” Mickey shakes his head, holding his hands up to keep Ian from getting closer. “This isn’t some fucking rom-com. I just wanted to go out for a fucking drink. Jesus Christ. Forget it.”

“No. I’m sorry. I just... family’s a big thing. I’m sorry.” He unlocks the car and tosses his bag in the back seat. “Get in.”

Mickey debates for a few minutes, but he’d meant what he’d said to Ian. He’s the closest thing Mickey’s actually got to a friend, as sad as that fucking is. He finally gets in the car and closes his eyes, not paying attention to the ride at all. When the car stops, Mickey opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at Ian. “This isn’t a bar.”

“You didn’t say bar. You told me to take you out for a drink. I have booze.”

“You’re fucking obnoxious, you know that?”

“I have good booze, and I promise no creepy guys will hit on you.” Ian fucking grins when Mickey’s eyebrows both go up. “I didn’t say _I_ wouldn’t hit on you, but I’m not creepy.”

“You just tried to get me to have a fake relationship with you. I don’t think your opinion of yourself counts in this situation.”

“Oh.” Ian grabs his bag and climbs out of the car. “So you think I’m creepy?”

“Didn’t say that.” Mickey gets out as well, following Ian into the building. Ian’s place is pretty much just a hangover memory, so Mickey looks around when Ian goes into the kitchen. There are a lot of pictures of people that Mickey assumes are Ian’s family, assorted ‘best teacher ever’ knick knacks, haphazardly stacked books and, in one rack by the TV, an impressive collection of porn.

“Jesus.”

“Don’t worry. I only star in half of them.” Ian walks out of the kitchen and hands Mickey a glass. 

Mickey takes it in one hand and snaps the fingers of the other. “I _knew_ I recognized you from somewhere.”

“Ha ha.” Ian lifts his glass. “To a different kind of parent-teacher conference.”

“You are such a weirdo.” Mickey clinks his glass against Ian’s then swallows the whole shot at once. Ian’s eyes widen as Mickey shudders. “Fuck. That was tequila.”

“Yeah.” Ian’s mouth twists in a smirk. “Probably should have mentioned that.”

“Maybe.” Mickey coughs. “Asshole.”

Ian flops on the couch and stretches his legs out. “Bottle’s on the counter if you want more.” Mickey flips him off and heads to the kitchen. He grabs the bottle and goes back to the living room, settling on the couch by Ian’s feet. Ian looks at him over the rim of his still half-full glass. “How drunk do you plan on getting?”

“Why do you care?”

“Well, because if you’re going to get extremely drunk, I’ll get the stuff out to make up the couch. If you’re only going to get tipsy to moderately drunk, I thought we could talk.”

“About what?” Mickey sounds as wary as he feels. Ian has a look that makes Mickey think he’s going to mention feelings at any minute.

“Well, we had such a good conversation the other night.”

“The other... Oh.” Mickey’s eyes widen and he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. “That... that conversation.”

Ian puts his glass down and sits up, leaning in to let his breath ghost over Mickey’s mouth. “Thought we could talk a little more.”

“Yeah. That... we could do that.”

Ian’s grin is warm and wicked as he closes the short distance between them. Mickey’s breath catches as Ian’s mouth covers his. Ian’s tongue passes Mickey’s parted lips and sweeps through his mouth before he eases back just enough to talk. 

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey groans and wraps his hand around the nape of Ian’s neck, pulling him in again. There’s a low hum in Ian’s chest as his tongue pushes back into Mickey’s mouth and Mickey’s whole body vibrates with Ian’s kiss. Ian’s mouth is hot, tasking like tequila. Mickey’s tongue slides along Ian’s, stroking all the surfaces of his mouth before surrendering to Ian and letting him take over the kiss, letting him own Mickey’s mouth.

Mickey’s groan rumbles through his chest, which seems to spur Ian on, and he pushes Mickey back against the couch before straddling him. Ian deepens the kiss, hands framing Mickey’s face. Mickey lets Ian move his head, move him however he wants. It’s fucking electric and Mickey whines, sliding his hands around Ian’s waist, cupping his ass.

Ian slides one of his hands to the back of Mickey’s neck, squeezing slightly until Mickey bends his head to the side to relieve the pressure. Ian mutters a quiet “yes” in approval and breaks the kiss, barely pulling away as he skims his mouth to Mickey’s jaw, nipping at it before he moves to Mickey’s neck. His mouth closes over Mickey’s pulse and he sucks, teeth scraping.

“Oh, god.” Mickey moans roughly. He squeezes Ian’s ass harder, wanting him closer. This isn’t what Mickey does. He gets fucked, takes it as hard and deep as they can give it. He gives into the hot, desperate drive of sex. This is new and a different kind of desperate. His pulse is pounding fast under Ian’s tongue, and he can’t help the hungry noises coming out of his mouth.

“Please. Fuck. Please, Ian.”

Ian pulls away and Mickey whines again, his skin on fire where Ian’s mouth had been. Ian pushes against Mickey’s grip and moves backwards. Mickey stares at Ian’s red and swollen mouth as Ian slides off Mickey’s lap onto his knees on the floor in front of Mickey. He pushes Mickey’s knees apart though Mickey’s already spreading them.

Mickey watches as Ian reaches for his fly, long fingers teasing down the zipper. It feels like all the blood that’s left in Mickey’s body rushes to his dick hardening it further. Mickey bites his lower lip as Ian finishes with his fly and curves his fingers beneath Mickey’s waistband.

Mickey raises his hips, his breath catching as Ian eases Mickey’s boxers over his dick and tugs them down along with his jeans. Ian pushes them off completely along with Mickey’s shoes and socks. He moves in, two fingers pulling Mickey’s cock toward him so he can take him in his mouth.

His brain goes offline, and all there is is Ian – his hands tight enough to leave bruises on Mickey’s thighs, his mouth like a vise around Mickey’s dick. It’s just the right side of too tight, too much. Ian’s cheeks are hollowed out, lips red and wet and stretched. Mickey’s mesmerized by the sight of his thick and flushed dick disappearing between Ian’s lips. He threads his fingers through Ian’s hair, leaving furrows in the red strands.

Ian hums and Mickey arches off the couch despite Ian’s grip. “G-god. Jesus. Jesus, Ian. God.” He’s so close, and he knows he should warn Ian, but he doesn’t want him to stop. Ian’s fingers rake down to Mickey’s knees, short nails digging in, and Mickey’s fucking shattered, falling apart and coming, rocking up into Ian’s mouth. Ian sucks him down until Mickey pushes him away from too much sensation. He’s breathing hard, trying to get enough air in his lungs.

“Come the fuck here.” Ian grabs Mickey’s hands and pulls him down to straddle Ian’s thighs. Ian kisses Mickey again, hard and biting. His tongue pushes past Mickey’s lips and fucks the salty, soapy taste of Mickey’s come into his mouth. Mickey sucks hard, making Ian groan. He reaches between them to undo Ian’s jeans and Ian groans as Mickey works his cock free. Mickey’s hand wraps around Ian, and Ian groans again.

Mickey squeezes and Ian gasps, breaking the kiss.

“Need to fuck you,” Ian growls, breaking Mickey’s hold on him when he pulls Mickey up and off. “Bedroom’s this way.” He kisses Mickey hard then pushes him back. “C’mon.”

Mickey nods and uses Ian’s shoulders for leverage as he gets to his feet. He holds a hand out to Ian and helps him to his feet. He can’t look away as Ian strips, tossing his clothes aside. He walks forward and backs Mickey to the bedroom, stalking him. It doesn’t take Ian long to catch him given that Mickey’s not trying to run away. He grips Mickey’s upper arms and pushes him onto the bed. 

Mickey lands on his ass, legs spread.

“Up,” Ian commands with a jerk of his head.

Mickey crawls back onto the bed, watching Ian as he kneels on the mattress, moving up the bed on his knees. He uses them to push Mickey’s legs further apart then braces himself over Mickey with one hand, grabbing lube from the bedside table.

“Gimme the pillow.”

Mickey grabs it and passes it down to Ian then braces his feet on the bed and lifts up. Ian fits the pillow under the small of Mickey’s back. Ian’s leaning in but Mickey gets no warning before Ian’s mouth closes over his balls.

“Shit. Shit.” Mickey slams his head back on the bed, looking up just in time to see Ian pull back with a wet sound and a smirk. “You’re such a fucker,” Mickey pants.

Ian grins and straightens. He uncaps the lube and slathers his fingers with it. Mickey crews his eyes shut and tightens all of his muscles before letting out a deep breath. His body’s already loose from his orgasm and the breath helps relax him, so he takes Ian’s first finger with just a small huff of breath, a slight twinge of pain.

Ian nuzzles Mickey’s thigh then bites. Mickey clenches around Ian’s finger. “Jesus, you’re an asshole.”

“Mm.” Ian hums, drizzling more lube directly on Mickey’s skin, letting it slide down from his perineum to his hole. Mickey shivers and Ian works a second finger in. He curves them and rubs the sensitive skin before twisting them and doing it again, this time hitting Mickey just right. His hips come off the bed. Ian really barely grazed him, but it’s a lazy shock to his system. 

Mickey rocks back down, thrusting against Ian’s fingers. “C’mon. Harder. Fucking _more_.”

“C’mon yourself, Mick.” Ian’s practically purring. “Wanna hear you beg again.”

“Such a... Such a fucking dick.”

“I’m not the one who wants to get fucked.”

“You want to... you want to end up with blue balls?” Ian pushes another finger in with the first two, thrusting them deep. “Jesus fuck.”

“What was that, Mick?”

“Christ, Ian. _Please_.”

“That’s what I want to hear. C’mon. Want more.” Ian curves his fingers again, and this time Mickey sucks in a broken breath. Ian thrusts again, getting the same reaction.

“Please,” Mickey manages to get out. “Pl-please Ian. Want you to... oh, fu-fuck get... Get the fuck in.” Mickey’s voice breaks on a moan. “In me. Get _in_ me.”

Ian eases his fingers out and Mickey shudders all over, suddenly empty. Ian licks a strip up Mickey’s thigh before moving back. He leans over Mickey again to grab a condom and his dick slides wetly against Mickey’s stomach. Mickey grinds upward, trying for friction.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Mickey growls as Ian opens the package and rolls the condom on. He grabs for the lube again, but Mickey grabs his wrist. “Now.” He meets Ian’s eyes and holds them. “Please.”

Ian grabs his cock and brushes it over Mickey’s opening a couple of times until Mickey’s muttering a hard string of curses. Ian laughs softly and Mickey reaches down, grabbing Ian’s dick and pressing it to his hole as he pushes down.

Ian thrusts in and it’s his turn to groan. “You’re so fucking tight.” His voice is high and thick. He keeps pushing in as deep as he can then stills. He looks down at Mickey, his unsteady breathing matching Mickey’s.

“Move. Move. Please fucking move.”

Ian nods and pulls back. It feels like everything falls apart and then suddenly Mickey’s full again. The first few strokes are slow as Mickey’s body adjusts to Ian and then it’s slick and wet enough that Ian starts thrusting faster and harder. He shifts back sightly and wraps his hands beneath Mickey’s thighs before he moves closer, pushing Mickey’s legs up, his knees to his chest.

It’s even harder to breath, and every thrust forces another ragged grunt from Mickey until there’s nothing left in his lungs, until he’s lightheaded and scraping his nails down Ian’s back. He can’t even manage Ian’s name, just a breathless repetition of the first syllable. Ian moans low and thrusts hard one last time. His mouth opens wordlessly and his entire body seems wracked with something, shivering everywhere. Mickey digs his fingers into the flesh of Ian’s ass as the muscles flex.

Ian moves his arms and Mickey’s legs slump down to the bed. Ian collapses onto Mickey and pants against his neck, breath hot against the sweat. Mickey closes his eyes, breathing shallowly still. Ian licks a stripe through the sweat. Mickey whimpers, overloaded, and Ian eases back slowly. Mickey clenches around him as Ian pulls out and it makes Ian’s body jerk. Mickey can finally breath and his whole body slumps onto the bed.

It’s just a few minutes before Ian comes back to him, to the bed. He rubs the palm of his hand over Mickey’s stomach and Mickey makes a soft sound. “Stay?” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s hair.

Mickey nods. Even if he didn’t want to, there’s no way he’s capable of moving. 

“Good. G’night.”

Mickey closes his eyes and matches his breath to Ian’s without even trying.

**

Mickey wakes up and stretches, stilling at the hard press of another body. He turns his head and Ian’s next to him, head turned the other direction, and the bare nape of his neck edged with buzzed red hair. The pale skin is flushed with sleep. Mickey’s not actually sure he knows what he’s doing when he leans in and nuzzles it with his nose, placing a light kiss to the knob at the top of Ian’s spine.

“Mm.” Ian murmurs, pressing back against Mickey. He slips a leg between Mickey’s and scoots closer. Mickey’s hard cock fits against the crack of Ian’s ass, and this time Ian actually presses back, rocking against him. Mickey huffs a breath across Ian’s skin and Ian shivers.

“I should go.” Mickey’s voice doesn’t sound very convincing, and he imagines the fact that his hips keep rolling against Ian doesn’t make a very good argument either.

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons.” Mickey ghosts another kiss on Ian’s neck before rolling out of bed. He walks naked into the living room, feeling the stretch and burn of Ian’s dick with every movement. He gets dressed then walks back to the bedroom, leaning on the door jamb. “Thanks for the drink.”

Ian’s smile is tight, but it’s there. “Thanks for the fuck.”

“Ouch.” Mickey runs his fingers through his hair. “Svetlana has a thing this afternoon. I’ve gotta be home to take care of the kid. Not that any of this is your business.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” Ian sits up and the sheet he’d draped over them post-sex falls to his waist. “But thanks for telling me anyway.”

Mickey lets his eyes rake down Ian’s chest. “This really needs to stop happening, you know.”

“Why is that exactly?” Ian tosses the sheet aside and gets up, grabbing a pair of boxers from a drawer and tugging them on. “You like me. I like you.”

“You’re not my type.”

Ian laughs. “You are so full of shit. What are you so scared of?”

“Fuck you. I’m not scared of anything.”

Ian moves past Mickey into the apartment and toward the kitchen. “You want breakfast before you flee the scene of the crime?”

“What crime is that? Did I steal your heart?” Mickey flips Ian off when he smiles. “You’re such a dramatic asshole.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Ian pulls eggs out of the fridge along with cheese and a container of lunch meat. “Nothing super fancy, but I’m good at scrambled eggs and omelets.”

Mickey’s about to protest when his stomach growls traitorously, loud enough that Ian can hear it. Ian absolutely fails at hiding his grin or, more likely, he doesn’t even try. “Fine.”

Ian grabs a bowl for the eggs. “We could also fuck again.”

“I thought you were supposed to be concerned about the welfare of my child.”

“I thought he was just an excuse to run away.” Ian cracks the eggs against the side of the bowl, separating the shells with one hand. “Because I could really get behind you sprawled out on my kitchen table. No pun intended.”

“Bullshit it wasn’t intended.” Mickey fiddles with the mail on Ian’s counter. “You have a thing for bending me over shit, huh?”

“What can I say?” Ian starts whipping the eggs with a fork. “I like your ass up in the air.” Looking up at Mickey with dark eyes, Ian looks hot and dangerous.

“Just make me breakfast.” Mickey shifts in his seat, his dick twitching at Ian’s look.

“You’re right.” Ian heats up a pan and Mickey can hear the sizzle of butter as Ian starts dicing the meat. “I mean, if your ass is going to be up in the air, I’d much rather have my tongue buried inside you, licking you and fucking you with it.”

Mickey swallows hard, but Ian’s focused on Mickey’s parted lips. Mickey licks his lips on instinct before he swallows again. He has to take a few moments before he can say anything. “That’s... Um.”

“But you have to get home.”

“Yeah. I. Yeah.” Ian turns back to the stove and Mickey sinks down into a chair. His stomach is tight and hot, his dick hard. Mickey’s never been rimmed. He’s never even really given it much thought, but his brain is stuck on the thought of what it might feel like, what Ian would sound like. “Shit,” he breathes.

He can see Ian fighting a smile, like he knows exactly what he just did to Mickey. “But, you know...”

“You are _such_ an asshole,” Mickey growls.

Ian just keeps his focus on the food. Getting up, Mickey walks behind Ian, wrapping his arms around his waist and slipping his hand under Ian’s boxers to palm his cock. Ian groans and thrusts against the pressure.

“Two can play this game,” Mickey says softly. He wraps his fingers around Ia right beneath the head of his dick. He squeezes barely moving his hand.

“Mickey.”

“What if I did this for hours, Ian? Worked you up and kept you on the edge? Backed off every time you got too close?” He rubs his thumb over the slit, feeling the sticky slide of pre-come. “What if I tied you up so you can’t move. Can’t touch. Can’t take control?”

Ian breathes shakily, his back moving with the exhale. “Fuck. Yes. Please.” He swallows hard then starts as the fire alarm goes off. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Mickey frees his hand as Ian moves the pan off the burner. Ian grabs a towel and starts fanning it under the smoke detector. Mickey snaps off the burner and aims a self-satisfied grin “See you later, Gallagher. Rain check on breakfast.”

**

Mickey doesn’t see or talk to Ian for three weeks, and he keeps the answers to Ian’s texts short. He spends the time he’s not working looking for a new place to live and trying to spend as much time with Yevgeny as he can. 

He and Svetlana go through the paperwork he downloaded off the internet, setting up their divorce agreement. It’s pretty simple – neither of them really have anything, and what they do have, she has no plans to take with her to her new life.

It all comes down to Yevgeny. Svetlana isn’t going to be working, so she’s the obvious person to have primary custody. Mickey’s prediction of weekends is pretty much what it comes down to. He takes a drink of his beer and sighs. Svetlana watches him carefully.

“You are always his father. Even when you did not want it, you were still father. Still Papa.”

Mickey nods and signs the document. He has to look online for their next steps. It seems like they could both just sign the thing and have it over with, but apparently getting divorced takes a hell of a lot more work than getting married. Maybe if it were the other way around, there’d be less divorces. 

“Okay, I’ll get the rest of it started tomorrow.” He puts the papers in a manila folder. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

He walks to his bedroom and stops, one hand on the door jamb and not looking back. “Make sure he’s good to him.”

“I will.”

Mickey nods and shuts his bedroom door. He walks over to the far wall to stare out the window. He’s not surprised that he doesn’t feel the urge to cry. He’s used to losing things that matter, so it feels like the hammer’s finally fallen. Instead he feels a surge of anger that’s mostly directed at himself for believing things might work out any other way. He punches the wall before he even knows he’s doing it.

It’s been too long since he’s been in a fight so his knuckles hurt. He shakes his hand out, but it doesn’t help. He doubts anything will.

**

He finds an apartment closer to work and puts the deposit down the same day they get the divorce decree. It’s the weekend, so it’s legally Mickey’s time with Yevgeny, but it ends up being all of them. Svetlana’s too pregnant to do much, so she does what she actually does best, bossing her ex-husband and fiance around. Apparently Yevgeny mentioned Mickey was moving at school because when they get back from taking the first load over, Ian’s standing outside the apartment.

“I thought you might need help.”

Svetlana raises an eyebrow. “You are boyfriend now?”

“Just lending a hand. Moving both of you, right?”

She lets her eyes run over him and Mickey feels a flare of annoyance at the look in her eyes. “Strong enough, you can help.”

Ian grins at Mickey when she turns on her heel and goes back into the apartment. “I think she likes me.”

Mickey flips him off, cringing slightly when he hears Yevgeny sing-song. “Bad thing, Papa.”

Mickey digs out his wallet and hands Yevgeny a dollar. He runs off to his bedroom practically cackling. Ian raises his eyebrows. “What?” Mickey snaps.

“Just thinking if he gets a dollar each time, he’s got to be rich.”

“Words are a quarter,” Svetlana says with a smile. “Could not afford otherwise.”

Ian laughs, and Mickey looks around to make sure Yevgeny’s out of the room before he flips Ian off again. Ian’s smile just gets bigger, so Mickey stomps off to his room for more boxes. Ian follows him, grabbing Mickey’s wrist and tugging him back against him. “Hi.”

“You need something?”

Ian turns Mickey around and smiles wickedly. He backs Mickey up against the wall. “Yes. But I’m not sure if I want what I promised or what you did.”

“My kid – your student – is in the next room.” Ian licks Mickey’s throat, breathing damply against the hollow beneath his ear. “And... Christ.” Mickey bites his lower lip to hold in a moan. “I... I’m all...” Mickey’s breath catches as Ian sucks Mickey’s earlobe into his mouth. “Sweat,” Mickey manages. “Sweaty.”

“Or maybe,” Ian whispers in Mickey’s ear, “I just want to be buried in your ass again.”

“Jesus, I’m trying to move.” Mickey’s head falls back and to the side and Ian’s mouth moves down toward his shoulder. His hips rock up, his body grinding into Ian’s. 

“Truck is here,” Svetlana calls out

Mickey shoves Ian away though Ian rakes his teeth over Mickey’s skin on his way back. Ian reaches down and adjusts himself as Mickey does the same. “You are _such_ a dick.”

“You say that, but it never sounds like a complaint.” Ian smirks and heads out to start loading more stuff. Dave rented a trunk for the bigger furniture that Mickey’s taking as well as to haul the rest of it to the dump. Svetlana is happier than a pig in shit since she now has three people to boss around, and she apparently loves that Yevgeny’s walking around with her, repeating everything she says.

They make short work of getting Mickey moved and, other than clothes and Yevgeny’s stuff, there’s nothing else. Svetlana or Dave has hired someone to clean, so once they pack up the last load, they’re done for good. Mickey hands Svetlana the key.

“Anybody hungry?” Dave asks, barely getting the question out before Yevgeny shouts for pizza.

“Coming?” Svetlana directs the question at Ian and Mickey and Mickey nods. They agreed that Yevgeny would stay with Svetlana this weekend until he and Mickey both have time to settle in, so Mickey’s not giving up any time with him. Yevgeny rides in Mickey’s car, talking a mile a minute about his new bedroom and how he gets to stay in Mr. Gallagher’s class. Mickey keeps smiling, but it takes a lot of effort not to lose his shit.

The pizza is good, and the conversation isn’t as stained as it could be, mostly thanks to Yevgeny and Ian, but it all goes to hell when they leave the restaurant and Svetlana takes Yevgeny’s hand. “Come. Time to go home.”

“Papa? Are you coming home?”

Mickey feels like he’s being gutted with a dull knife when he squats down to look at Yevgeny eye to eye. “My home and your home are going to be different now.”

“But you’re my Papa.”

“And nothing’s going to change that. Not ever. But you’re going to live with Mama and Dave. You’re going to spend Friday night and all day Saturday and Sunday with me.”

“But how will you say night?”

“Well, I can call you. Or you can call me. Every night.”

“You come home _too_!”

“I can’t, Yevgeny. Mama’s with Dave now. And she loves him a lot. But that doesn’t mean we love you any different or any less.”

“I want Mama and Papa!” He screams it then starts yelling at Svetlana in Russian. He clenches his fist and charges toward her, aiming for her stomach.

Ian reacts the fastest, grabbing Yevgeny under the arms and lifting him into the air. “Hey.” Yevgeny struggles, but Ian doesn’t let him go. “Hey.”

Either there’s something in Ian’s voice, or it’s simply because he’s Yevgeny’s teacher, but Yevgeny settles down almost immediately.

“Is that how we behave?”

“But Mr. Gallagher!” Yevgeny’s voice is high and thick with tears. Mickey isn’t sure if he should interrupt or not.

“Is it?”

“No.” Yevgeny bows his head. 

“The way I see it, you’re lucky.”

Yevgeny looks up, immediately suspicious. “How?”

“Well, now you have two families. Your mom and Dave. And your dad. And maybe someday he’ll have someone special.”

“Papa likes boys. There aren’t specials boys.”

“Actually there are. And so maybe he’ll find one.”

“There are?” Yevgeny sounds disbelieving but hopeful all at once. “They makes specials for boys?”

“Yep.”

“You’re _sure_?”

Mickey knows he’s bright red and he’s glad it’s dark out so no one can see. “Okay. It’s almost your bedtime. Give me a hug.”

Ian sets Yevgeny back on the ground as Mickey squats down again. Yevgeny throws his arms around Mickey’s neck tight enough to choke. Mickey hugs him back just as hard. 

“Be good, okay? And I’ll come get you on Friday, and you can show me your room, and then you can come to my new apartment and we’ll set up your room there.”

Yevgeny nods, but there are still tears standing in his eyes. He glances at Ian and then back at Mickey. “Are you going to find a special, Papa?”

Svetlana cuts Ian a look and mutters, “Already has,” under her breath.

Mickey flips her off behind Yevgeny’s back. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“You should. Mr. Gallagher promises you can, and Mr. Gallagher doesn’t lie to us.” Yevgeny smiles as he pulls away. “Will you call me tonight?”

“You call me when you get all settled, okay?”

“Okay. Okay, Mama?”

“Yes. Is okay.”

Yevgeny steps back and bites his lower lip. He looks over his shoulder at Svetlana then back at Mickey. “I love you, Papa.”

“I love you too.” Mickey stands and watches him go until they drive away. He doesn’t even realize Ian’s hand is in the small of his back until they’re gone.

“Come on. I’ll help you unpack.”

“And by that you mean fuck me until I can’t think?”

“I actually didn’t, but I definitely could be persuaded.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “Why’d you tell him I might find someone?”

“Because you might. You’ve got a little more freedom now.”

“Yeah. Because now I’m just a weekend dad to my kid.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Though if I go to the club on weeknights, I’m probably less likely to get cockblocked by some kindergarten teacher.”

“What? You think I can’t stay out late on a school night?”

“I love that you don’t even try to deny cockblocking me.”

“You were drunk.” Ian follows Mickey to his car.

“I was drunk the night I met you. So as long as it’s _your_ cock...”

“You weren’t _as_ drunk the night you met me.” Ian leans against the driver side door. “You gonna let me help you unpack.”

“Do I actually have a say in the matter?”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips. “Technically.” He smiles, but Mickey can see something on his face.

“What?”

“Why do you want him to think that you won’t or can’t find anyone?”

“Because I can’t. I’m not looking, and I won’t because shit like that doesn’t happen when all you go for is a quick fuck. And I want him to think it so he doesn’t get disappointed when it doesn’t happen. 

Ian’s thumbs slide beneath the hem of Mickey’s shirt, rubbing against his skin. “What are we doing?” Ian’s voice is low and rough, hot with promise, and Mickey can’t help pressing closer into the vee of Ian’s legs. 

“Going to unpack?”

“Is this all just fucking to you?”

Mickey bites his lower lip. “Don’t, Ian.”

“Because I don’t think that’s all this is.”

“Fuck. You’re...” Mickey sighs and bites Ian’s lip, sucking it into his mouth. Ian slides his hands from Mickey’s hips to his back, pulling Mickey harder against him. Mickey breaks the kiss, breathing hard into Ian’s mouth. “Fuck.”

“Let’s go unpack,” Ian says between quick, hard kisses. “And then at some point we’ll christen the apartment.”

“Christen the apartment and, at some point, unpack.”

Ian laughs, and it fans against Mickey’s lips. “You’re going to have to name it at some point.”

“Can’t we just be having fun?”

Ian’s thumb slide along the dimples of Mickey’s back. “Is that what you want?”

Mickey steps back and shakes his head. “”I’m going home. Do what you want.”

**

Ian follows Mickey inside because he’s fucking incapable of taking a hint or taking “no” or “fuck off” for an answer. Mickey doesn’t want to admit that he’s glad, that he really doesn’t want to be alone, but there’s no way Ian’s going to hear that from him. Mickey suspects that Ian actually knows, because he heads straight to the kitchen, grabs two beers from the fridge, and tosses one to Mickey.

“Have to start in here. If we do the bedroom first, we’re not going to get anything done at all.”

“Well, you haven’t taken no for an answer yet, so I’m guessing arguing with you is pointless.”

“My job is to convince kindergarteners that they’re wrong about things. So, yes. Absolutely pointless.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Fine.”

They spend the next three hours – minus the time Mickey’s on the phone telling Yevgeny goodnight – arranging Mickey’s apartment or, more precisely, Mickey moves and puts shit wherever Ian tells him. 

“You know, this is actually my place. Not yours.”

“Your idea of unpacking is living out of boxes until all the clothes are out of them and on the floor.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mickey takes a drink from his fourth beer. “Boxes are like drawers.”

“You’re a heathen.” Ian grabs Mickey’s jacket and throws it at him. “Now, can we put your bed together? I’m tired.”

“And you’re spending the night, I take it.” Ian’s lower lip slides out into a pout and Mickey laughs and shakes his head. “Well, I hope tired’s all you are, because I don’t have any supplies.”

Ian opens his mouth then snaps it shut. After a minute of staring at Mickey he clears his throat. “Really?”

“Didn’t exactly want the kid stumbling across it. Besides, I never brought guys home.”

“But... Lube?”

“Lotion.”

“No...”

“No. Nothing. No lube. No toys. No condoms.”

“But how do you...”

“Lotion. And a lot of clubs in Boys Town.”

Ian’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you.”

“No?” Mickey bites back a grin.

“Now who’s being a dick?”

“What do they say on the playground?” Mickey jabs Ian in the stomach. “Takes one to know one.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s arm and shoves him back against the wall, crowding into him. “I guess if you don’t have any supplies, I should just go home.” He catches the skin of Mickey’s throat between his teeth and sucks on it. “You’ll have to jerk off to christen the apartment.”

“What makes you think I want to christen it with you?”

“You have someone else in mind?” Ian slips his hand under Mickey’s shirt and trails a finger along his spine. “Hm?”

Mickey closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. Ian’s breath is hot on his neck, and Mickey’s back arches though he’s careful not to move away from Ian’s touch. He moans Ian’s name softly as their hips rock together, at the friction.

“Need something?” Ian whispers. “If you don’t have lube, maybe I need to do what I promised.”

Mickey’s whine sticks in his throat. “Been... been moving all day.”

“Taste the heat and the sweat.” Ian’s voice is right in Mickey’s ear, and if he keeps talking, Mickey’s not sure he’s going to last. 

“Christ.” He manages to push Ian away, grabbing his hand before he can stumble too far back. He drags Ian into the bedroom and shoves him onto the mattress. Ian just lies there smirking, propped up on his elbows as Mickey digs lube and an unopened box of condoms out of the nightstand drawer. He tosses them onto Ian’s chest hard enough, hoping they sting. “Why don’t you do something useful like get naked?”

Ian pushes the lube and condoms onto the bed and sits up, reaching behind him to grab the collar of his shirt and tug it up and off. He plans his feet on the mattress and lifts his hips, pushing his jeans and boxers down. Mickey watches as Ian lowers himself back to the bed, his eyes dark when he meets Mickey’s gaze. “You just gonna stare all night?”

“Maybe.” Mickey undoes his jeans and pushes them down. Ian wolf whistles and Mickey flips him off “That what you’re teaching kids these days?”

“Get undressed, Milkovich.”

Mickey kicks his pants off then pulls his shirt over his head. They’d both kicked their shoes and socks off earlier, so he’s naked quickly. Ian reaches for him, but Mickey slaps Ian’s hand away.

“Hey, now. No hitting.”

“You sure?” Mickey asks as he gets on the bed and moves over Ian. “You don’t want a spanking?”

Ian groans. “You keep promising things. When are you going to deliver?”

Mickey leans in and licks Ian’s mouth open. Ian brushes his tongue against Mickey’s before he bites the tip and sucks on it. Mickey moans into Ian’s mouth, the sound vibrating between them. Ian’s hands slide down Mickey’s back then cup his ass, squeezing it and using it to pull Mickey up, their dicks rubbing together. Ian’s fingers dig into the firm flesh and Mickey tenses, grinding down.

“Got plans for you.” Mickey’s voice is rough.

“This is pretty good.” Ian scrapes his teeth over Mickey’s jaw, the shadow of his beard. “Don’t you think?”

Mickey rolls his hips and Ian’s head falls back, his throat exposed. Mickey's tempted by the pale expanse, but he grabs the lube and sits up, opening it with a click. Ian takes a deep breath and looks up at Mickey, his lashes hiding his eyes. Goosebumps rise on Mickey’s skin and he runs a hand down Ian’s chest. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“What are your plans?” Ian asks breathlessly.

Mickey pours the lube onto his fingers and rises up onto his knees. He reaches back and rubs his fingers over his hole. His own body tenses at the touch, but Ian’s breath stutters and he arches his hips up off the bed.

“Not yet,” Mickey says with a shake of his head. He rubs again and then pushes his finger in. He gasps as it penetrates, his dick reacting, flagging, dripping pre-come down onto Ian’s stomach.

“Christ,” Ian breathes. His hand settle on Mickey’s hips, steadying him as Mickey works himself open. He goes as slow as he can stand, but Ian makes it rough, moving one hand from Mickey’s him so he can slide his fingers through the pre-come on the flat of his stomach then suck them into his mouth.

Mickey’s breath catches in his throat, nearly choking at the sight of Ian’s hollowed cheeks. He doesn’t even bother with the third finger. “Get the fucking condom on.”

Ian grabs the packet and opens it, rolling the condom on as quickly as he can. “Get on me,” Ian growls.

Mickey pours lube on Ian’s dick. He doesn’t take the time to stroke it on, just moves over Ian and sinks down onto him. They groan in unison as Ian’s dick fills Mickey. “Fucking love your cock. So full. So good.”

Ian’s fingers rake down Mickey’s back. He presses upward, trying to get deeper. “Need... Need you to move. Want to watch you fuck yourself on me. See you ride me.”

Mickey arches his back, his hands on Ian’s thighs. It changes the angle and Mickey’s own thighs go taut. He tightens around Ian and Ian shivers beneath him.

“Move. Please, Mickey. _Move_.”

Mickey doesn’t change his position even as he does what Ian says. Tight shallow thrusts that let him feel every inch of Ian’s cock. “Oh, Christ,” Mickey gasps. “Feel so... Shit. So thick. So good.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips, fingers pressing hard enough that Mickey knows he’ll have bruises, half-moon nail marks dug into his skin. He slows Mickey’s movements despite everything so that every thrust is agonizingly slow. The drag of skin, even with the lube, sets every nerve-ending Mickey has on fire. His dick is leaking, dripping off the end of his cock, slipping down his shaft and pooling at the base of his balls in Ian’s public hair.

“Jesus. Jesus. You’re killing me.” Ian’s voice is broken and rough. He braces his heels on the bed and raises his hips. Mickey digs his own nails in to keep Ian from shifting the angle.

“Don’t like this?”

“Don’t want to lose it this soon.” Ian huffs a weak laugh. “Got me so close.”

“You think that’s gonna change?” Mickey moves forward, backing himself over Ian, rocking back onto him. He’s panting breathlessly. “This isn’t gonna get you off?”

Ian wraps his hand around the back of Mickey’s neck and pulls him into a desperate kiss. Mickey shifts upward to deepen it, and Ian uses the change in momentum to flip them over. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. Mickey sucks in a breath as Ian hooks his arms under Mickey’s legs and strokes Mickey’s thighs before guiding Mickey’s legs up, draping them over Ian’s shoulders, licking the hollow behind Mickey’s knee. 

Mickey gasps and wriggles, but Ian pushes in deep, bending Mickey’s knees back to his chest. Mickey’s breath is forced out as Ian pounds into hi. The wet slap of flesh is all Mickey can hear, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands. His brain is completely off line, lost in staring up at Ian’s dark eyes.

Ian’s shoulders shove Mickey’s legs up higher, and Mickey’s vision blurs slightly from the lack of oxygen. Ian stops suddenly, buried deep, and then he’s shuddering like he’s going to fly apart. He slumps forward, his mouth on Mickey’s. The kiss is slow this time, not gentle but lazy.

Mickey eases his legs off Ian’s shoulders then wraps them around his waist instead. Mickey’s cock is trapped between them, and Ian keeps rocking forward. Everything is sticky from Mickey’s pre-come, slick with sweat.

Ian’s still inside him, still thrusting even though he’s already come and, even without being full hard, he still makes Mickey feel full. It just takes a few moments of too much, and Mickey comes, over-sensitized and spent. Ian’s body is heavy and grounding and Mickey buries his face against Ian’s throat.

“Think that was more breaking the bed than putting it together,” Mickey whispers against Ian’s skin and laughs quietly. Ian laughs as well and turns his head, nuzzling at the damp hair at Mickey’s temple. 

“You know there’s no way this bed is getting set up tonight, right?”

Mickey tilts his head up and looks at Ian. “I don’t have enough energy to get out of bed, much less clean myself up. I’m not doing anything.”

“Shit. ‘m just going to stay right here.”

“You’re going to take the condom off is what you’re going to do.” Mickey slaps Ian’s ass lightly.

“This is what I get for all my hard work? Punishment and abuse?”

“Pretty sure I did most of it this time.” Ian keeps looking down at Mickey. He bites his lower lip, his breath tight in his chest. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” Ian shifts onto his elbows, one hand carding through Mickey’s hair. He closes the distance between them. He kisses Mickey lightly, breath soft on Mickey’s parted lips.

Mickey rubs Ian’s ass as they kiss, holding their bodies pressed together. Ian’s head moves back and he grins. 

“If I have to deal with the condom you have to make breakfast.”

“With what food? You’re going to get dry cereal and beer, assuming there’s beer left.”

“Guess we’ll have to go grocery shopping.” Ian slides his hand between them to grab the condom. He pulls back slowly, but Mickey still gasps. Ian bites Mickey’s lower lip and sucks on it. It doesn’t do anything to offset the loss of Ian’s dick, but it is distracting.

“Wait.” Mickey turns his head and narrows his eyes as Ian climbs off the bed. “What’s this ‘we’ bullshit?”

“You’d rather go alone?”

“That’s not the fucking point. What if we run into one of your students?”

“I'll... say hi?”” Ian disappears into the bathroom for a minute then comes out. He’s still a mess since there’s nothing in the bathroom to clean up with, so he climbs back on top of Mickey, his dick trapped with Mickey’s between them.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it. You’re a dirty old man.”

“Fuck you I’m old.” Mickey slaps Ian’s ass again and Ian groans, rolling his hips down against Mickey’s. “You like that, huh?”

“Like all the things you do to me.” Ian settles down, lying fully on top of Mickey, tracing his eyebrow. “I’ll let you know if you do something I don’t like.”

Mickey frowns, realizing that Ian’s successfully diverted the conversation away from the point Mickey was trying to make. “You know this is just casual, right?” He can feel a sense of panic in his chest, but it’s not because Ian’s pressing him, but because Mickey knows he doesn’t want it to be casual, and the thought scares the shit out of him.

“I know.” Ian grins and kisses the tip of Mickey’s nose. “I actually have a date tomorrow night, so you’ll have to finish unpacking all on your own.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.” Mickey tries to keep his voice teasing, but he’s not sure he manages it. “You have school the next day.”

“He has an early case, so we’re doing an afternoon thing. I promise I’ll be in bed early.”

Heat rolls through Mickey and he’s fairly certain, given the strange hurt and anger, that it’s jealousy. “With him?”

“Are you seriously accusing me of putting out on the first date?” 

Ian’s fingers have moved to Mickey’s hair, stroking through it, scratching lightly at his scalp. “We didn’t even have a first date and you put out,” Mickey reminds him. Ian laughs and Mickey pokes him in the side. “Case. So he’s a lawyer or something?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ian shrugs.

Mickey’s a janitor and Ian’s going out with a lawyer. “What do you mean, ‘guess’?”

“My older brother set us up, so I’ve never actually met the guy.”

Mickey’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. “Where’s he taking you?”

“Who says he’s taking me?”

“I do. Because you might love topping, but you’re a complete and utter sap, and you want to be taken out on dates.”

“Think you know me pretty well, huh?”

“You’re an open fucking book.”

“Is that so?”

Mickey nods and pushes off the bed, rolling them over so he’s on top of Ian. He looks down at him and hopes like hell that whatever is in his expression doesn’t give him away. “Yeah.”

Ian pulls Mickey in for a hard kiss. He bites at Mickey’s mouth, sucking on his lower lip until Mickey’s groaning and grinding down against him. “Again,” Ian growls into Mickey’s mouth, and it’s not a question so much as an order.

Mickey nods and pulls back and settles on his knees. He wraps his hand around Ian’s dick and strokes it lightly, squeezing with each upstroke. Ian grabs another condom and hands it to Mickey. Ian’s hips roll up as Mickey strokes the condom onto his cock, again when Mickey lets the lube drizzle down onto it.

“Hands and knees.” Ian’s voice is choked as Mickey’s hand slides the lube up and down his dick. “C’mon.”

Mickey eases off Ian’s thighs and gets on his hands and knees as Ian scoots over then climbs off. He grabs Mickey’s hips and pulls him down to the end of the bed. Mickey struggles slightly at first, but then Ian’s cock slides against the crack of his ass. He presses back as Ian strokes against him, lubing his rim with the slickness on the condom.

Ian grabs the cheeks of Mickey’s ass and spreads them, opening him up. The tip of his cock presses against Mickey’s hole then he slides it up again. Mickey groans and sinks down onto his elbows, raising his ass. “Ian.”

Ian laughs roughly and uses one hand to guide his dick to the tight ring of muscle. Mickey’s still loose enough that it only stings as Ian starts to slide inside him, not reaching the perfect ache until he’s buried deep. “You’re so fucking tight. Just fucked you. How’re you so fucking tight?”

“Quit talking and fuck me.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips, his hands slippery with lube, but he digs his fingers in hard enough that it doesn’t affect his grip. Mickey bites his lower lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, but it doesn’t do much good once Ian starts moving. There’s no build up. He just starts thrusting deep, using the leverage of standing up to fuck into Mickey hard and fast. It’s good, so good, and Mickey can’t breathe. 

They’re silent except for their breathing and Mickey’s low moan that feels like a constant sound, rising and falling with every thrust. Ian’s panting and Mickey can feel sweat dripping onto his back, feel Ian readjust his grip as the heat between them gets to them both. Mickey reaches down for his cock, squeezing the base to keep himself in check. He doesn’t want to come yet. He wants to ride it out with Ian, feel him come inside him before he lets go. 

His head is on his forearm, slipping against the skin as he starts pushing back. The rhythm is easy with Ian, and he meets every thrust until his body feels like Ian’s part of him. He feels Ian still behind him, feels his fingers clench. Mickey sucks in a breath as heat fills him, and for the briefest of seconds, he wonders what it would be like to feel Ian come, feel him bare and hot and he doesn’t even realize he’s stroking himself, tugging at his dick until he’s coming, body wracked with the force of his orgasm. 

Ian groans as Mickey closes around him, and Mickey feels the pulse of his Ian’s cock as the pressure coaxes one last jerk of his orgasm from him. Ian slumps against Mickey’s back, and it’s even hotter, stickier. “Covered in sweat,” Mickey groans. “Gonna stick together.”

“Mm. Okay.” Ian kisses the curve of Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Miss your date if that happens.” Mickey shifts and Ian slips out part of the way. He should be glad Ian’s going on a date, but for some reason he’s not listening when he tells himself that. He doesn’t want a relationship. Not with anyone, much less with Yevgeny’s teacher.

Ian grabs the condom and pulls out completely. He disappears into the bathroom again, and Mickey slumps on the bed. When Ian comes back he glances at Mickey on the bed. “You want me to go?”

“What?”

“We’re just fucking, right? Nothing serious. Thought you might want me to leave rather than crash here.”

“I’m not kicking you out.” Mickey turns over and sits up. “Come on. Get back in bed.”

Ian doesn’t move for a moment and then he walks over, sliding onto the mattress beside Mickey. Mickey slips back down and Ian lifts his arm, letting Mickey move under it and rest his head on Ian’s chest. Mickey’s pretty sure this doesn’t fall under the ‘just fucking’ rule, but it feels good. Warm. Safe. It makes the apartment feel like home.

Mickey’s pretty sure he should be scared, but it feels too good not to just close his eyes and fall asleep.

**

Mickey wakes up before Ian and forces himself to get out of bed rather than stare at him like a creep. He finds a box of worn towels before he goes in for a piss, then washes his face and hands. Ian’s snoring softly and Mickey does stare for a little while, but he chalks it up to appreciating Ian’s body. Objectively.

His stomach growling pulls him away, and he looks in the kitchen. He was pretty spot on regarding the dining choices as well as the amount of beer left. Going into the bedroom, he pulls some clothes out of boxes and gets dressed, grabbing his wallet from last night’s jeans and heads to the store.

The last attempt at breakfast ended badly, so Mickey grabs eggs and cheese and lunch meat so Ian can have another go at an omelet. Or so Mickey can test the smoke detector. When he gets home, he sets the bags on the counter and goes in to check on Ian. He’s still asleep, sprawled across the bed, blanket across his thighs. Mickey stares at Ian’s ass for a long moment, thinking of a few things he could do, but in the end he turns around to make breakfast. He’s got no idea how Ian feels about bottoming, and he’s go no clue how to go about rimming someone. 

He starts cooking, and the omelet ends up scrambled eggs because Mickey doesn’t even pretend to be a cook. Ian comes stumbling into the room in a pair of boxer shorts, scratching his ass.

“Smells good.” 

“Not sure it’ll taste that way.” Mickey frowns at the pan. “I mean, it looks edible, but I don’t know. Is that yolk shit or melted cheese?”

Ian comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. “I think you’re good. No salmonella this morning.”

Mickey closes his eyes and leans back against Ian. He’s solid and warm behind Mickey, and he bends his head to kiss Mickey’s throat. “Good. I’d hate to poison you and deal with Yevgeny crying about a substitute.”

“Guest teacher. That’s what we call them now.” He runs his hand up Mickey’s chest and rubs his thumb over Mickey’s nipple in a slow swipe back and forth. “Want to fuck you again.”

“Already set one breakfast on fire.” Mickey bites his lip and a low sound rumbles in his throat. Ian sucks a patch of skin at the curve of Mickey’s jaw. “Fuck, you make it hard to concentrate.”

“Fuck you,” Ian breathes in Mickey’s ear. “Fuck you and mark you up. Bite and suck and leave hickeys and bruises all over you. Tug your nipples between my teeth until you’re arched up and begging. Suck your balls until you’re so hard and so close, and then eat you out. Suck and lick and fuck your asshole until you’re a writhing, squirming mess begging me again. Fucking love it when you beg me, Mick.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey arches back into Ian, a shudder doing nothing to loosen the tautness of his muscles, the _want_. It takes all of his strength to pull away, to push Ian back. “Breakfast,” he croaks.

“Eat you for breakfast.” Ian grabs him and kisses him, fucking Mickey’s mouth with his tongue. It feels like possession and Mickey’s cock seems to harden further, though he didn’t think it was possible. “Eat you up. Eat you out.” Ian reaches behind Mickey and snaps off the stove. Mickey starts to protest but it gets lost somewhere in his gasp when Ian picks him up and boosts him onto the counter. 

“I-Ian.” Mickey chokes out.

Ian ignores him, undoing Mickey’s pants and tugging them down, barely giving Mickey time to lift his ass off the linoleum. Ian pushes Mickey’s jeans and boxers off of him then tugs him to the very edge of the counter. Mickey wraps his hands around the edge as Ian sinks down, flicking Mickey’s balls with his tongue.

“Oh Christ. Oh Christ.” 

Ian doesn’t stop. He sucks on Mickey’s balls, rubbing them hard between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Mickey’s breathing hard and rough through his nose, his body shaking with every breath. His cock is hard, leaking, dripping down to Ian’s mouth and he sucks it off of Mickey’s skin. 

Mickey can feel the wood underneath the counter digging into his fingers, and he’s going to have splinters, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nothing matters except Ian’s hands pulling him even closer to the edge, Ian sliding his shoulders under Mickey’s legs, Ian’s tongue.

Oh, god. Ian’s tongue.

Mickey wants to be grossed out by the tip of Ian’s tongue tracing around his hole. He was moving and then getting fucked and he’s unshowered, but Ian is licking. Sucking. Mickey releases the edge of the counter to slap his hand down on it, to find some form of control as Ian’s tongue pushes inside him.

He gasps and his head falls back, his vision whiting out behind his eyelids. Ian’s hands are gripping his ass and Mickey thinks they might be the only thing holding him up. It feels like Ian’s tongue is everywhere, his mouth and tongue and wet and sloppy and slick. Mickey’s making unintelligible noises and he digs his heels into Ian’s back. Ian hums against him and Mickey’s cock jerks, and he thinks he comes, thinks he completely loses control, but he can’t tell. Can’t feel anything but Ian. Ian. Ian.

He’s not clear on when Ian stops, when he pulls away. He senses vaguely when Ian helps him off the counter, when he falls into a straddle on Ian’s thighs because his legs won’t support him. He doesn’t think as he pushes Ian back onto the floor and kisses him. Doesn’t care about the taste or anything.

Ian rolls them over and pushes his boxers out of the way, settling between Mickey’s thighs and rubbing against him. His cock slides through the mess of come on Mickey’s cock and stomach. It’s not so much rubbing as rutting and Mickey wraps his legs around Ian’s waist. Ian comes just a few strokes later and Mickey doesn’t care that they’re bare-ass naked on his kitchen floor. “F-fuck. That... That was...” 

Ian nods and kisses Mickey’s neck. “You think breakfast is still edible?”

Mickey presses his head in the crook of Ian’s neck as he tries to even out his breathing. “I’m not sure it was in the first place.”

“We could risk it.”

“That would mean moving, and I’m not completely convinced I can do that.”

Ian laughs quietly and pulls back. He braces himself over Mickey and looks down at him. His eyes are dark and hard to read. “Still have unpacking to do.”

“Fuck that. Gonna live here for a while. I have all the time in the world.” Mickey’s legs are still wrapped around Ian, and he keeps his heels dug into Ian’s ass so he can’t move far. “Could find other things to do.”

“Can’t.” Ian kisses him quickly and then gets up on his knees, easing Mickey’s legs down. “Have plans.”

“Right. Date with the lawyer.” 

“Yep. What do you think lawyers do for fun?”

“Put people in jail.” Mickey gets up on shaky legs. “Why don’t you reheat shit. I’ve got to clean up.” He goes in the bathroom without giving Ian time to answer. A shower is easier and faster than anything else, so he rinses himself off quickly and goes to find new clothes. He figures it’s safer than going into the kitchen for the ones he left there.

“Breakfast,” Ian calls out. “Get it while it’s lukewarm.”

Mickey sighs and tugs on his sweats, heading into the kitchen. Ian’s got everything dished up and Mickey’s stomach rumbles because, no matter what else he’s got going on inside him, he’s hungry. He and Ian have certainly done enough to build up an appetite. They eat in silence, and the eggs aren’t super hot, but the coffee is, and that’s enough for Mickey.

Ian finishes first and sits there until Mickey’s done, taking both their plates to the sink. “I hate to eat and run-” Ian grins and Mickey knows he’s not just talking about breakfast, the smug asshole. “But I do have a thing with the lawyer, and it’s probably bad form to look and smell like I was just busy having sex with a different guy.”

“Definitely bad form.” Mickey takes another sip of his coffee, not looking at Ian. He hears him go into the bedroom and sees him when he comes back out, dressed and ready to leave. “Guess I’ll see you around, huh?”

“Yeah. Are you coming to the Thanksgiving pageant?”

“The what?”

“The Thanksgiving pageant. All the kids wear construction paper pilgrim hats and sing songs and there’s actually a dancing turkey.”

“This is a thing?”

“In kindergarten. Yes.”

“You’d better fucking tell me my son isn’t the dancing turkey.”

“Nope. Not even close.” Ian comes over and bites Mickey’s lower lip then sucks on it. “I’ll email you. Professional email from school and everything.” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Go the fuck away. Enjoy your interrogation.”

“Aw. How’d you know I was into role play?” Ian laughs and opens the door. “Have to save it for next time though.”

“Not gonna be a next time,” Mickey calls out after him, sighing as the door shuts on Ian’s laugh. Mickey looks around the apartment and sighs. Might as well unpack. He doesn’t have anything better to do.

**

He gets the email from Ian two days later along with a note that Ian’s going to be busy and will see him at the pageant. Mickey doesn’t bother responding, and he doesn’t bother texting either. It’s possible that Ian is busy. It’s also possible that he’s involved with the lawyer and he’s letting Mickey know that he doesn’t want him around. 

Either way it doesn’t change Mickey’s life much. He gets his apartment in order and works, he spends the weekend with Yevgeny getting his room put together and hearing all about his new life. Mickey does his best to act happy for him, but his gut twists every time he has to hear about Dave and all the nice things that Yevgeny gets to have now. 

He doesn’t try to compensate, because he knows he’ll never be able to. Instead he tries to make the most of the time they have together. They go to the zoo and the lake and Mickey takes him to a baseball game, which ends up boring Yevgeny to tears. They leave halfway through before he starts throwing a tired fit, and he’s asleep by the time they get back home. 

They stay in and watch movies, and Mickey thinks that’s his favorite. Yevgeny snuggles into him like he always did and talks over the entire thing, constantly asking Mickey what’s going on. They usually spend Sundays like that until it’s time for Mickey to take him back to Svetlana. 

“Hey, Papa?”

“Hm?” Mickey’s making sure everything is in Yevgeny’s bag. The one advantage to just having weekends is that Svetlana has to do all the laundry, so he makes sure to send home all the dirty clothes.

“Is Mr. Gallagher your special?”

“What?” Mickey looks at Yevgeny quickly. “No.”

“Oh.” He gets on his knees and looks at Mickey over the back of the couch. “Why not?”

“Because... He’s not.”

“I like him. He should be your special. He likes boys. He likes you. He looks at you all funny, like his tummy hurts.”

“Not sure that’s a good thing, kid.” Mickey finishes packing the bag. “You ready to go?”

“Mama says you like being miserable.”

“Yeah, well your Mama doesn’t know sh...anything.” Even though Mickey doesn’t actually finish the word, Yevgeny holds out his hand for the quarter. Mickey rolls his eyes and digs one out of his pocket, setting it in Yevgeny’s palm. “You’ve got quite the scam going, you know that?”

“Mama says I get that from you. She calls you a scam artist, but I’ve never seen you draw. Not once.”

Mickey reminds himself to kill Svetlana at some point and nods to the door. “Come on.”

Yevgeny gets off the couch and leads the way out the door and down to the car. “Are you coming to the Thanksgiving pageant? Mr. Gallagher says all the parents should come and Mama and Dave are coming.”

“Yeah. I’m coming.”

“You are?” Yevgeny turns around and hugs his legs. “I knew you would. So I get to see you extra this week!”

“Just promise me you’re not the dancing turkey.”

“I’m not! I’m a pilgrim and I’m an ear of corn.”

Mickey just blinks at him as Yevgeny runs to the car and climbs in. Mickey climbs in as well and tosses Yevgeny’s bag in the passenger seat. To be fair, Ian didn’t lie to him, but the fucker certainly evaded. Svetlana comes out of the house when Mickey pulls up to the curb, and she looks like she’s about to pop. 

“You need a ride to the hospital or something?”

“No. Still one month to go.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Is big baby. Like Dave.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Dave’s a big baby?”

Svetlana flips him off and Yevgeny runs up to her. “Dollar, Mama!”

“In my purse.” He goes inside and Svetlana sighs. “You go to pageant?”

“Yeah.”

“You with teacher?”

“No. He’s dating some lawyer or something. Moving up in the world.” He heads back to the car. “See ya.”

The next few days are quiet, and he thinks about texting Ian. He doesn’t, because he has no idea what he’d say. Instead he just waits for the pageant. He gets off work early and goes home, showering and changing clothes. He’s got no idea what to wear, so he puts on a pair of semi-decent jeans and a nice shirt that he’d gotten at the Goodwill when he was doing job interviews. The shirt didn’t do much to offset the tattoos, but he figured every little bit helped. In the end the shirt and the tattoos didn’t matter since he spent his days behind a janitor’s cart dumping trash, mopping up spills, and cleaning toilets. Nobody noticed someone in a khaki uniform.

Mickey pulls into the school parking lot then drives right back out again since every space is full. He ends up taking fifteen minutes to find a spot that’s only slightly illegal, and he hurries back. The gym is packed full of parents, and Mickey’s too short to see over the majority of them, so he squeezes his way around to the side of the room.

The kids are singing loudly. And badly. He spots Yevgeny in his pilgrim hat as he gets off the steps and chases the dancing turkey with a musket. He shoots and the turkey falls down and Yevgeny grabs the kid’s leg and drags him off the stage area. It’s kind of sick and macabre, which makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable than Mickey imagined it would be. 

Eventually a giant cornucopia comes down and the kids come through it as a parade of fruits and vegetables. There are five or six ears of corn, so Mickey’s not actually sure which one is Yevgeny, and he’s distracted by the turkey coming out last and the dance all of them do. The music ends and all of the kindergarten teachers come out dressed as pilgrims.

Gallagher towers over the other three teachers, especially with his hat on. Mickey’s a little bit embarrassed by how much he wants to fuck him. He chalks it up to pretty much always wanting to fuck Ian as he joins in the applause. Mickey hangs back as the rest of the parents crowd in to take pictures and tell their kids what a great job they did of being a kumquat or whatever. He watches all the parents interact with Ian, and he can tell which of them are single moms by the way they sidle up next to him and put their hands on his arm. He smiles and laughs and discreetly disengages from them and Mickey has to hand it to him. He’s really good at it. None of them seems offended or hurt or like they even notice.

The crowd thins out and Mickey sees Yevgeny with Svetlana and Dave, so he heads over to them. Yevgeny’s still wearing the top of his corn costume, fake silk and leaves sticking out of the hat on his head. “Papa! Did you see me?”

“I did. You were awesome.” He picks him up and gives him a hug. “Best corn I’ve ever seen.”

Yevgeny giggles then wriggles out of Mickey’s arms, grabbing his hand and tugging him over toward Ian. “Mr. Gallagher! Look! My Papa’s here!”

Mickey closes his eyes for a minute as he shakes his head. Ian catches his eye and smiles, and it’s completely different than the one he’s been giving all of the moms. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Ian reaches out to shake Mickey’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Great job. You were the director?”

“Assistant director. What’d you think? Did it bring a tear to your eye?”

“Only when they tried to hit the high note.” Mickey bites back a smile. “I think Svetlana and Dave were thinking about going out to celebrate Yevgeny’s performance as both slayer of the turkey and dancing corn. You wanna...” He tilts his head toward them. 

“I’d like to, but I can’t. Sorry.” His eyes dart over to the corner of the gym and Mickey follows his glance. There’s a guy slouching against the wall, his eyes sharp as he watches them. 

Mickey nods, swallowing the feeling that wells up in his throat. “Well. Have a good night.”

“Mickey.” Ian reaches out and grabs Mickey’s wrist. “He’s my brother. We’re having dinner tonight. I’ll text you, okay? Tonight.”

Mickey rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, looking at the guy. He looks smug and self-righteous. “You sure he’s not a lawyer? He looks like a lawyer.”

“What does a lawyer look like?”

“Like a douche.” He looks back at Ian and sees the hint of his smile. “You could come over. After dinner. If you want.”

“Yeah? I mean, I have school tomorrow.”

Mickey shrugs. “If you want.”

Ian nods. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.” He walks away, heading toward the guy at the back of the gym. The guy is looking at Mickey appraisingly and Mickey gets the impression he doesn’t like what he sees. Of course, he’s the guy who set Ian up with a lawyer, so Mickey doesn’t expect him to.

They go out to dinner and Yevgeny refuses to eat any corn, because it’s like his brother now, and he’s yawning into his ice cream by the end of the night. Mickey walks them out to the car and buckles him in the back. “See you tomorrow night, little man.”

“Night, Papa. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Mickey backs away, patting the side of the door as he does. Dave waves at him out the window and drives off. Mickey shoves his hands in his pockets and walks over to his car, checking his phone for messages before he heads home. 

There’s nothing from Ian, and still nothing when he gets to his apartment. He goes up the stairs to his place, and Ian’s leaning against the wall with his messenger bag at his feet. 

“Hey.”

He looks up from whatever he’s reading and smiles. Grabbing the bag, he stuffs the papers into it and straightens up. “Hi. I told Lip I was exhausted from corralling almost a hundred kindergarteners, so we cut dinner short.”

“And are you?”

“Exhausted?” Ian nods and barely manages to cover a yawn. “Yes.”

“But you still came over.”

Ian’s eyes sweep up and down Mickey’s body and he walks closer, turning so that Mickey’s backed against the door. “Yeah.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s been a crazy couple of weeks and I haven’t gotten to talk to you or text you or hang out with you, and I want to do all of those things.” He stands with Mickey caught in the vee of his parted legs and slides his hands up Mickey’s sides, pulling his shirt free from his pants and letting his palms settle warmly against Mickey’s skin. He looks down, eyes locked on Mickey’s mouth. “Hi.”

Mickey’s hand fists in Ian’s hair and he pulls his head down, slotting their mouths together. He closes his eyes and just _feels_ Ian, wishing it wasn’t so good. The problem is that it is. That Ian feels good and right and too much like he fits in Mickey’s life. And his hands feel too good as they slide to Mickey’s back and his thumbs fit into the dimples there. “Hey,” he murmurs in warning.

Ian gives him a quick smacking kiss. “You started it.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and turns to unlock the door, pushing it open so Ian can go first. Ian flips on the light like he lives there and then looks around. “You moved some stuff.”

“Yeah. Well, actually it turns out that this is my apartment. So I thought it’d be cool if I did that. Even without your permission.” Ian laughs and sets his bag by the door and puts his coat on top of it. Mickey glances down at the pile and then back up at Ian. “Make yourself at home.”

“Okay.” Ian walks over to flop down on the couch and kick off his shoes, putting his feet on the coffee table. “Thanks. Get me a beer, would you?”

Mickey stares at Ian for a few minutes until Ian cracks a grin. He sits up to grab Mickey’s wrist and pulls him onto the couch. 

“Hi.”

“Hi. Dickhead.”

“Your favorite dickhead.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asks skeptically. “How’d you figure that?”

Ian reaches over and catches Mickey’s chin in his hand, turning his head. “Just a guess.” He leans in, rubbing the tip of his nose against Mickey’s.

“Are you seriously giving me fucking Eskimo kisses right now?” Mickey’s eyebrow lifts. “What the fuck? What’s next? Butterfly kisses?”

Ian tilts Mickey’s head and actually kisses him. His tongue brushes Mickey’s lips then slides between them. Mickey moves into the kiss as Ian curves his tongue and lets the tip of it graze the roof of Mickey’s mouth. Mickey jerks back slightly then leans in and bites Ian’s lower lip a little harder than normal.

“That tickles.”

Ian curves his hand along Mickey’s jaw and pulls him back in, kissing him harder. Mickey swings his leg over both of Ian’s and straddles him easily. Ian drops his hands to Mickey’s ass and pulls him up higher on his thighs. “Jerked off so much these past few weeks thinking about this. About you.” 

“Yeah? Not your lawyer?”

Ian squeezes Mickey’s ass. “You.”

Mickey’s voice cracks slightly, and he tells himself he doesn’t know why, but he does. “Fucking show me.”

Ian flips them over, pinning Mickey to the couch. He works a leg between Mickey’s and looks down at him. “I have school tomorrow. You work?”

“Yeah.”

“What time do you wake up?”

“Four.”

“Wake me up with you?”

Mickey nods. He’s not sure why he’s whispering, but it feels right to keep the words between them. “You still want that beer?”

“No.” Ian closes the distance between them, his mouth finding Mickey’s again. It’s slow and hot and perfect. Mickey wraps his leg around Ian’s so that Ian’s slotted between his legs. He can feel Ian as he hardens against him, but neither of them make any more to do anything other than just lie there together and kiss.

Mickey’s not sure how much time passes before Ian pulls away and rests his head against Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey feels and hears Ian’s yawn and laughs softly. “I cannot believe you came all the way over here to fall asleep on me.”

“You’re pillowy.”

“You’re about to end up on your ass on the floor,” Mickey warns, but he can tell from Ian’s chuckle that he hears the smile in Mickey’s voice. “Come on. Bed, because I’m going to die of suffocation if you fall asleep on top of me.”

“Mm. You like me on top of you.” Ian’s voice is lazy and drifting, his breath even as it falls on Mickey’s neck.

“Yeah, but when you’re normally on top of me I’m getting something out of the deal.” He turns his head and kisses Ian’s hair. “Come on.”

“Being a pilgrim is hard work,” Ian mumbles.

“Yeah, so is putting up with you.” Mickey slaps Ian’s ass and Ian sighs and slowly pulls away. He does look exhausted with his eyes half-closed and his face flushed. Mickey gets up and goes over to lock the door and turn off the light. When he gets back to the couch, Ian’s sitting up, but slumped against the cushion, his head tilted back. “Gallagher.”

“’m gonna stay here,” Ian waves Mickey off when he taps Ian’s forehead. “Sleep.”

“Don’t make me carry your ass to bed.” He takes both of Ian’s hands and pulls him to his feet. “Come on.” 

Ian stumbles slightly into Mickey and Mickey wraps his arm around Ian’s waist, walking him toward the bedroom. Ian yawns and Mickey can’t help but echo him. “Bailed on the lawyer.”

“Hm?”

“Lawyer. Told him I couldn’t meet up with him. ‘s why Lip was there tonight. Pissed off at me.”

“Lip? Your brother’s name is Lip?”

“’s a long story.” Ian sways a little as Mickey undoes his jeans for him. “His name was Barry. Or Gary.”

“Who?”

“Lawyer. I couldn’t go out with a guy named that.”

Mickey laughs and pushes Ian onto the bed. He lands on his ass and then falls back as Mickey kneels down and works Ian’s shoes, socks, and jeans off. “You’re not even sure what his name is.”

“I like you.” As soon as his jeans are off, Ian crawls into the bed, tugging the covers up. 

Mickey sighs and checks his alarm before stripping down to his boxers. He can hear the soft, deep sound of Ian’s breath and knows he’s already asleep. He turns on his side and looks at Ian, reaching out to stroke his palm lightly over Ian’s hair. “I like you too. That’s the problem.”

**

Svetlana shoves something into Mickey’s hand when he picks Yevgeny up from her house on Friday night. He looks down at it and frowns. “What the fuck is this?”

“Invitation.”

“To what?”

“Wedding. On New Year’s.”

“Wait. _Your_ wedding?” He looks up at her, though he’s not really sure why he’s surprised. “You’re angling for Christmas presents _and_ wedding gifts?”

“Name once you’ve bought me gift.”

Mickey doesn’t bother responding, since they both know ‘never’ is the answer. “Why am I invited?”

“You are father of Yevgeny. Your are ex-husband.”

“Right. Again. Why am I invited?”

“You are family.” Svetlana shrugs. “You are invited. You will come.”

“Maybe I have plans.” Mickey doesn’t have any plans. Mickey never has plans. Plans would involve Mickey wanting to get out of the house and be in public which, since he’s met Ian, he hasn’t really done. “Maybe I’m going to a club for some New Year’s thing.”

“Are you?”

“ _Maybe_.”

“Bring teacher and come to wedding. No gift required.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten you one anyway.” Mickey glances over her shoulder. “Is Yevgeny ready?”

“He is finishing a project.” She looks Mickey over. “You want to come in?”

“No. I enjoy standing outside the doorway.”

“Good. Do not want you in my house.” Her eyebrow goes up, which is the only indication she’s flipping Mickey shit. 

He flips her off in return and brushes past her. “Aren’t you supposed to have the kid in January?”

“Was pregnant at first wedding.” She shrugs and follows him into the living room. The furniture is a couple of steps above anything Mickey’s ever owned, so he perches on the edge of the couch. She sits opposite him and sighs in relief. “What is difference?”

“Well, you didn’t look like you swallowed a basketball at our wedding. You weren’t even showing. You wore that...dress thing that barely covered your ass. It sure as hell wouldn’t have covered you if you’d been seriously pregnant. And, well, shit. For your sake, I hope that’s not the only difference.”

She laughs and rubs her stomach. Mickey remembers her doing the same thing when she was pregnant with Yevgeny. It was always weird how tender she was with that in contrast to how hard she was to the rest of the world. Mickey included. “No. Not only difference. Anyway, baby is due in February. Will be pregnant, but will not go into labor.”

“I hope not, unless you’ve got some doctor friends that I don’t know about who might show up. Because I know fuck-all about delivering a baby.”

“Would never ask you. Would not want you to be first thing baby sees.”

“You’re such a bitch.” Mickey says it with a laugh. He shifts back on the couch and sighs. “What’s it like? Fancy house. Guy who makes money?”

“Like him better than I like you.” She shrugs and gives him a faintest hint of a smile before it disappears. “Is not so different. I am same me, so cannot be too different. His friends. It is strange with them. To be around them. They do not approve of me.”

“Not high class enough for ‘em, huh?”

“I speak funny. I am not classic beauty.”

Mickey scoffs. “Fuck ‘em. He likes you. Loves you or some shit, right? Who gives a fuck what they think? Besides, since when do you care what other people have to say? Let’s seem their pussy asses try and make it on the South Side.”

“Papa!” Yevgeny races down the stairs and jumps on Mickey, knocking him sideways on the couch. “Mama’s gonna get married!”

“I saw. She invited me.”

“She said you could sit at the kid table with me!”

Mickey gives Svetlana a look and she shrugs. “You are same height almost. Will fit in small chair.”

“Mama said you’d bring Mr. Gallagher!”

“Mama said that, did she? Mama talks too much.”

Svetlana levers herself to her feet and grabs Yevgeny’s backpack from where he left it on the stairs when he saw Mickey. Yevgeny looks from her to Mickey. “You are gonna bring him though, right? I like Mr. Gallagher, Papa. He’s going to be your special. I _know_ it.”

“You the one filling his head with this crap?” Mickey grabs Yevgeny and gets to his feet, swinging Yevgeny up on his shoulders. “Because it’s got to stop.”

“He wants his papa to be happy. Not my fault. I never wish for that.” She raises an eyebrow and hands him the backpack. “See you Sunday.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

She presses a finger against Mickey’s chest to stop him before they head out the door. “You will come to wedding.”

He knows it’s supposed to be a question just as clearly as they both know it’s not. He’s not sure when he realized that he could read Svetlana just as well as she could read him, but it happened somewhere along the line. Maybe when she stopped thinking she could make him her husband and realized they could just exist together to keep everyone else at bay. For some reason it matters to her that Mickey be there. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll come. Not bringing a gift though.”

“You have shit taste. No loss.”

“Mama! Bad word!” 

She reaches up and tugs Yevgeny down, kissing his cheek. “I owe you a quarter. Have fun with Papa.”

Yevgeny babbles the entire way to the car, telling Mickey all about the wedding plans. Mickey half-listens, letting it all fade to background noise as he drives. Sometimes he wonders how the fuck he ended up here, especially given where he started. It’s even stranger when he thinks about how he’s not all that far from where he grew up. A couple miles of distance and a couple light years in every other way. 

Mickey spots Ian’s car when he pulls into the parking lot and sighs. He’s pretty sure he reminded Ian that weekends were off limits, but he’s also pretty sure that Ian’s memory is selective as fuck. Mickey gets Yevgeny out of the car and they start upstairs and Ian’s at the door. 

“Mr. Gallagher!” Yevgeny lets go of Mickey’s hand and makes a beeline for Ian, wrapping his arms around Ian’s legs in a hug. “You came!”

Mickey’s eyebrow shoots up and Ian gives him a guilty smile. “You came?”

“I ‘vited Mr. Gallagher to dinner with us, Papa! So we could talk about Mama’s wedding.” He looks back at Mickey and his smile is just as sheepish as Ian’s. “I askeded him after school so no one would know.”

“Asked, not askeded.” Mickey blows out a breath and tosses Ian the keys. “Did you already decide what we’re doing for dinner too?”

“Tacos.” Yevgeny nods solemnly. “Mr. Gallagher says he likes tacos.”

Ian’s got his face turned away, but Mickey can still see the hint of his smile. He unlocks the door and steps back so Yevgeny can go inside, but he blocks Mickey from going in. “I didn’t engineer this.”

“You didn’t say no either.”

“Can’t say no to his earnest face. Too much like his dad.” Ian’s eyes flit down to Mickey’s mouth. “Besides, I like tacos.”

“My kid’s in the next room.”

Ian leans in, not quite close enough to kiss, but Mickey can feel his breath on his lips. “Think he’s already figured out that we’re friends.”

“I don’t think we classify as friends.”

Ian takes a step closer, and it’s nearly too much for Mickey. Too close. Too hot. “Lovers?”

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey means for it to come out harsh and rough to push Ian away, but instead it’s breathless and shaky. “You’re his-” Mickey doesn’t get any farther before Ian’s mouth is on his, tongue sliding between Mickey’s parted lips, hand moving to cup the back of his head. Mickey’s low moan rumbles in his throat and he knows he should shove Ian off, knows he should push him away. Knows Yevgeny is probably watching them as Mickey presses closer, moves forward so he’s pushing Ian against the door frame. His hand is fisted in Ian’s shirt at his hip and he leaves it there when he finally pulls back and breaks the kiss. It takes him a minute to parse the sound he’s hearing over the raggedness of his own breath mixed with Ian’s.

Mickey turns his head and looks at Yevgeny who is bouncing up and down and clapping. “I knowed it! I knowed it!”

“Knew,” Ian reminds him, even though he doesn’t look away from Mickey. “And what did you know?”

“That you and my papa were specialest to each other.” He beams at both of them. “Maybe you can get married with Mama!”

“No.” Mickey sighs and pulls back from Ian. “Are we going to get tacos or what?”

**

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we got invited.”

“I got invited. You’re just tagging along.”

“I’m your date.”

“You’re what’s going to keep Yevgeny from killing me. You’re not my date. We’re not dating,” Mickey huffs.

“We’re dating.” 

“We are n-”

“We’re dating,” Ian interrupts. “I spend the night at your house when your kid is there. Even when one of us doesn’t stay the night we spend the evening together. You have a second alarm set so I can sleep in when you go to work. If that’s not dating, I’m not sure what is.”

“You’re the most irritating quick fuck I’ve ever had.” Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and Ian laughs.

“If this is a quick fuck, I’d hate to see what it’s like when you take your time.” 

Mickey flips him off and exhales roughly. “Why am I going to this?” He tugs at the collar of his shirt, loosening his tie. “I don’t care if my ex-wife ties the knot. She’s my _ex_ -wife.”

“Yevgeny wants you there. Svetlana wants you there. God only knows why since you’re such an asshole.” Ian reaches over and grabs Mickey’s hand. “And I know you want to go because you bought them a gift.”

“I bought them a bottle of booze.”

“The best kind of gift.” Ian lifts their joined hands and kisses just at the base of Mickey’s thumb. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get any ideas about you sweeping me off my feet and running off to Vegas to elope.”

“Is gay marriage even legal in Nevada? And fuck you.” Mickey tugs his hand away. “What makes you think I’d marry your ass?”

“Gay marriage is legal everywhere now. And you like my ass. Not as much as I like _yours_ , admittedly, but I seem to remember you having a good time bending me over the edge of your couch and using your hand on me.”

“You weren’t complaining.”

“No. No, I wasn’t.” Ian laughs and reaches for Mickey’s hand again. When Mickey moves it out of the way, Ian settles his palm warmly on Mickey’s thigh. “We should do that again. Maybe I’ll come up with something bad to do so you won’t have any choice but to punish me.”

“You’re such a sick fucker.” Mickey’s trying not to smile, but Ian’s massaging his thigh and his voice is thick just talking about this. 

“You brought it up in the first place.” 

Mickey sets his hand on Ian’s and slides it up to his dick. Mickey’s half-hard already, and his cock fills out even more with Ian’s touch. “Got so fucking turned on watching you take it. Ass red and hot. Cock dripping.”

Ian groans and squeezes. “Fuck. We’re going to a wedding, Mickey.”

“Just Svetlana’s.”

“Yevgeny will straight up kill you if you’re late or if we don’t show up.” Ian pulls up to the curb just down the street from Svetlana’s house. “And I really don’t want to explain to everyone why I can’t sit down. It was hard enough standing all day while I was teaching class.”

“Could have sat down.”

“Not unless I wanted to explain what _that_ did to me.” Ian turns off the car and turns to Mickey. He looks at him for a long moment and then reaches out with his free hand to cup Mickey’s jaw and pull him in. Mickey goes easily, since apparently he’s nothing but easy for Ian. “I have a goddamned hard on right now.”

“Mutual.”

“Maybe we should talk about stuff that’s going to kill the bus. Sex with women. Crying babies. Um...” Ian’s breath hitches as Mickey reaches over and rubs his cock through his slacks. “M-mick.”

“Or we can recline this fucking seat and jerk each other off.”

“We’re going to be late.”

Mickey grabs Ian’s tie and pulls him closer. “You’re my someone fucking special. Pretty sure Yevgeny’ll forgive me.”

“Us.”

“Whatever, Gallagher. You gonna keep talking, or are you gonna get the fuck over here and get the fuck on me?”

Ian climbs over the console and stretches out over Mickey as Mickey grabs the lever and lets the seat tilt back. “Mm.” He kisses Mickey and immediately reaches down between them. “And they say romance is dead.”


End file.
